To Know You is to Love You
by Coyote Laughing Softly
Summary: Calm, rational discussions have never been their strong point. When a pre-wedding fight shows them that they need to get it together, Hermione suggests couples counseling with an innovative new method. Ron reluctantly agrees, and now the two of them are going to learn about each other in a way never before possible.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! I'm new to the fandom, so thanks for taking the time to read this. I write for a different series under another name, so I'm not completely new to this. Ron and Hermione are one of my top two otps, so it was important for me to get their characters right. Reviews and PMs would be greatly appreciated, so I can see how I'm doing. I hope you all enjoy my take on the characters and this universe, and that I can meet some of you in the fandom!

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Hermione sighed as she Apparated into the entryway of the flat she shared with Ron. It had been a long day, and she was looking forward to removing her pinching shoes, releasing her hair from it's constraining bun, and finally being away from the judgemental eyes of her coworkers. She had been understanding of them at first, knowing that they would have reservations with working with someone likely to get special treatment, but she had hoped that once they saw the effort she put in, they would realize she was just as serious about this job as they were. She had done her best, trying to make office relations as unstrained as possible, yet it didn't seem to be doing any good. Being Hermione, she had put her head down and tried to work through it.

For two years.

If something didn't change soon, she was liable to snap, and that had never ended well for the opposing party. Hopefully, she would be able to do so in a manner that didn't end up with her being sacked. Pushing these negative thoughts to the side, she slipped her feet from her heels and stepped into the living room, taking her hair from it's clip and giving it a shake.

The sight that met her made her smile; Ron was seated on the couch, textbooks and papers spread around him and all over the coffee table in an untidy mess. His bright red hair was in slight disarray from where he had probably been running his fingers through it, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. His lips twitched as he poured over his notes, as they did whenever he was trying particularly hard to memorize something he was reading. She marveled, as she always did, how this could be the same person that could put off writing a paper until the last possible moment, and then end up getting her to do more than half of it, back when they were at Hogwarts. She supposed that it was different now that he actually cared about what he was studying.

The air was almost solid with his nervousness. He was nearing the final test of his Auror training, and the pressure had him in a state of high panic. All week his nerves had been stretched taut, the worry over whether he would manage to pass or not being so strong that he had actually lost his appetite. Hermione hated seeing him so pale and drawn, because she had no doubts whatsoever that he would succeed. He had focused so much effort into his training that he was near the top of the class, and his swift grasp of tactics and strategies had pretty much ensured that he would eventually rise to a high level position. She was immensely proud of him, but he didn't seem to realize that. He was pushing himself so much over these finals that she was afraid he was going to make himself sick. And he still had more than two weeks to go before the written exam. From there, those remaining would be sent to the field for a three week survival camp, with the top twelve going on to graduate. It wasn't unusual for an Auror candidate to have to repeat training, but Ron was determined to make it through the first sorting or die trying. And Hermione was beginning to fear that it just might come to that. Which would be unfortunate, seeing as how they planned to be married in just a bit over three months.

He hadn't been in for training today, and he only helped George occasionally in the shop anymore. Since he was wearing jeans and a sweater striped in shades of brown, with no sign of shoes or socks anywhere, it looked as if he had been on the couch all day. She came up beside him and placed a hand on the back of his neck to rub the tense muscles. Ron jumped at her touch, letting out a little yelp. Looking up at her in surprise, he scowled as she giggled.

"What the hell are you doing, Hermione? You nearly gave me a bloody heart attack!"

She pushed a few books aside and sat down next to him. "Shouldn't the mighty Auror be aware of people Apparating into the apartment? I wasn't trying to sneak up on you, but I still managed to catch you off guard!" She teased.

"That's Auror in training, thank you very much. Besides, a man shouldn't have to be on guard in his own home!"

"Whatever happened to constant vigilance?" She laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.

Distracted from pouting, he deepened the kiss, his hand going to the back of her head to draw her closer. She indulged him for a few moments longer before breaking away, smothering a smile at his look of disappointment.

"Have you been studying all day?" She asked softly.

Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't going to get a decent snog in, he leaned back, stretching his sore muscles, then bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"You know, I always thought potions classes back at Hogwarts were bad, but I think now I'm prepared to fail on a whole new level." He answered miserably.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt it's that bad. Are you ready to break for supper, or have you already eaten yet?"

Normally easily distracted by the mention of food, Ron was a bit miffed that she had dismissed his concern so casually. Still, he wasn't in the mood to argue, so he bit his tongue.

"Actually, I don't think I've eaten since breakfast, so food sounds great."

Hermione stood and headed for the kitchen, calling back, "I'll get the water boiling and the sauce started for some spaghetti, if you'll come in and watch it for me while I take a shower, alright?"

Ron replied in the affirmative, shuffling his notes around, attempting to get them in some semblance of order. He had almost lost himself in his studies again when the scents from the kitchen began pulling at him, his stomach growling loudly. He stood leaning into the doorway, watching her as she stirred the bright red sauce in the saucepan, her eyes narrowed in thought. Her hand absently rubbed her lower back, and Ron realized she looked as tired as he felt. In a few quick strides he was across the room, taking the spoon from her hand and pushing her away gently.

"Go on and take your shower. I'll go ahead and finish this up."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, that sounds lovely. I won't be long."

Kissing his cheek, she left, the absence of any protest a sure sign that she was more exhausted than she had let on. Ron glowered at the sauce as if it had deeply offended him. He knew those arses at the office were still giving her trouble, and it was all he could do to keep himself from going down there and giving them a piece of his mind. Not long ago he would have done just that, but he had developed a bit more patience and discretion over the years. That, or he was just getting old. A smug grin crossed his features at some of the things he had gotten up to with Hermione last weekend. No, getting old was most definitely not his problem. For a moment he preened over his growth in maturity, but his spark of happiness quickly faded, being replaced by worry. His upcoming exams had him constantly on edge, and he wasn't sure how he would handle it if he didn't pass. Harry had told him to stop worrying so much, that his spot was practically guaranteed. That did little to comfort Ron; obviously Harry had gotten the two of them mixed up. Of course, it was easy for Harry. Not only was he already comfortably off financially, but every department in the Ministry would kill for the chance of having the Chosen One work for them. Ron, on the other hand, had to face the very real possibility of having to beg his brother for a full time job if this didn't pan out.

The idea didn't set well with him. He loved George, but he would go mental if he had to work for him on a permanent basis. He winced at the thought of Hermione having to introduce her husband as a joke shop clerk. He could practically see the disdain on their faces, knowing that Hermione would become less in their eyes by her association with him. He couldn't let that happen. She deserved more than that. Hell, she deserved more than him, but through some miracle she had chosen him, so the least he could do was minimize the level of disappointment her decision was bound to cause her.

Hearing movement from the bedroom, he quickly drained the pasta, and was just putting the plates on the table when she came in. Her hair was still damp, and she had changed into dark blue pajama pants with a lighter blue t-shirt.

For most of the meal they ate in an easy silence, both taking pleasure in the food they had badly needed. Once the gnawing edge of hunger had worn off, Hermione ventured a question.

"So is your studying going well? If you're having any problems, I can help you once we're through in here." She offered.

Ron rolled his eyes as he swallowed a mouthful. "Thanks, but I think I can manage on my own."

Hermione shrugged. "Fine. It's just that Harry mentioned he was having a hard time, so I thought I would offer."

"Of course. If Harry's having problems, then there's no way I could be doing well on my own, is that it?" Ron bristled.

Setting her fork down with a sharp click, she frowned. "That's not what I said! Don't put words in my mouth, Ron!"

"My words wouldn't fit in your mouth, Hermione, it's always too full of your own." He retorted sharply, then immediately regretted it at the look of hurt that flashed across her face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I've just been stressed lately, and I'm snapping at everything."

"I don't understand why you're so upset about this. You've done well so far, and you and Harry are sure to-"

Ron shoved his empty plate away, no longer hungry for seconds. "Harry, yeah. But that doesn't guarantee me a spot. They made that clear on the first day of training."

"Only because they didn't know you! They stopped giving you such a hard time once they realized you weren't relying on Harry to get you through!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly, the memory of the whispered gossip and outright bullying Ron had had to put up with his first few months still able to spark her anger.

He snorted. "That may be true, but let's face it. Harry could skip this last test and he'd pass right on through. I have to be lucky enough to be one of the twelve, no, eleven, not counting him, that makes it out of a group of fifty."

"That's not fair. You know he's working just as hard to-"

"Not the point, Hermione! Is Harry good at this? Yeah, he is. Does he deserve to be an Auror? Again, yes. But no matter what he does, he's going to be given a free pass for who he is. I'm not mad about that, it's just the way it is. But right now, I'm more concerned with my results than his."

Her jaw clenching at the hostility in his voice, Hermione stood and carried their plates to the sink, setting them to wash with a flick of her wand.

"But you're going to do fine! You've gotten excellent marks so far, and your instructors have said positive things about you. Harry said-"

"Can we leave him out of this? Please?" He gritted out, his temper fraying.

Hermione swung around, her drying hair falling into her eyes. She brushed it out of the way impatiently. "That's rather hard, Ron! For Merlin's sake, he's your best friend, you're going through training together, you're going to be working with him, and if that wasn't enough, you're practically in-laws already! How do you suggest I not bring him up? Honestly, you could try to handle this in a mature manner-"

"This isn't fourth year, Hermione. This is my job, my future I'm worried about. I'm sorry if that isn't mature enough for you!" His voice was sharp and cold, and his ears had reached a dangerous level of maroon.

But Hermione's natural temper and the stress of her work week blinded her to the warning signs, and she was set for a good argument to vent her frustrations on. He had been difficult to live with for weeks, and she was getting tired of it.

"While I'm glad that you're taking this seriously, quite frankly, I'm more concerned with how Harry is going to manage. I was talking to him about it the other day and-"

She might as well have been reciting poetry in Mandarin. Ron heard nothing after the words, 'I'm more concerned for Harry.' That had cut him deeply. Here he was, trying so hard to make something of himself, to ensure they had a good start to their future, and all she could think of was bloody Harry Potter, The Boy Who Was Assured Gainful Employment!

"I'm not doing this." He said quietly, turning on his heel and going straight for the front door, stopping only to jam his trainers on. His hand was on the door when he heard her panicked voice behind him.

"Ron? Ron! Where are you going?"

He turned back, the thinly veiled terror in her brown eyes bringing back uncomfortable memories.

"I'm just going for a walk to cool down. I'll be back in a little while, I promise." His voice was softer than it had been all evening. He hated that he had to say this every time he needed a break from a fight. She had forgiven him, but still carried the fear of his leaving all those years ago. Part of him worried she always would. Part of him knew that the day she stopped asking him would most likely be the day when she didn't care if he came back or not.

If that was the case, he didn't want her to stop asking. Even if it stabbed his heart every time.

At her tiny nod, he left the flat, wandering aimlessly down the street. While they bickered on an almost daily basis, they rarely had a serious fight, but when they did, it could turn ugly. He hated that; he hated hurting her, and he hated being hurt by her. The problem with knowing each other as well as they did was that they knew just what words to use to inflict the most pain, and in the heat of their anger, they didn't hold back. They were always incredibly sorry afterwards, and the make up sex was wicked, but he wished they could skip the harsh words and raised voices and go straight to the shagging.

The cool night air soothed his flaming ears, and he concentrated on returning his breathing to normal as he walked, the street lights flickering on around him. Now that he was away, he knew he had probably overreacted. He had come a long way, but he still had a bad habit of getting defensive under pressure. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't brought up Harry every two sentences. He loved Harry; he was his best mate, and, as Hermione pointed out earlier, nearly his brother-in-law. But when he was having a problem, he just wanted her to focus on him. He wanted words of understanding and compassion, not impatience and comparison to Harry. He had gotten over his jealousy for the most part, but when he was feeling down, he selfishly wanted all of Hermione's attention for himself. At least until he snapped out of his funk and got his head on straight. Then she could fuss over Harry as much as she wanted, and he would just roll his eyes in fond exasperation.

He came to himself with a start, noticing for the first time how dark it had gotten. It was later than he had planned on, and Hermione was probably getting worried about now. Turning in the direction of home, he mentally went over what he needed to say. An apology for snapping at her was in order. He knew he hadn't been the most pleasant person to live with recently, but she had been more than good about it. He would promise to make more of an effort in these last few weeks leading up to his test. Briefly, he considered telling her how her words had made him feel, but he knew he would mess that up somehow, and she would be upset with him for thinking she was choosing Harry over him, even though that wasn't what he meant. Glancing at his watch, he calculated it had been a bit over three hours since the beginning of their fight. His lips lifted in a small smile. While their fighting was still explosive, at least they no longer went months before making up.

The lights in the living room and kitchen were out when he got back, so he knew she was already in bed. Hopefully she had stayed awake; if she had gone to sleep, it would mean that he would be getting the cold shoulder the next day. Expecting to find her either sleeping or propped up reading a book, he was taken aback to see that she was just sitting against the headboard, her knees drawn up to her chin with her arms wrapped around them, her eyes pink rimmed and puffy from crying.

He stood in the doorway, unsure how to proceed. His mind sought the appropriate words for the situation; something to convey his regret about the fight, that he wasn't mad anymore, and that he didn't want to argue with her. In his head, he was smooth and articulate.

What came out of his mouth, was, "Hey."

Bleeding hell. He mentally slapped himself. Hey? Was that really the best he could do?

"Hello." She sniffled, her voice still thick from crying. Kicking off his trainers, he edged over to the bed, sitting next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, praying he was making the right move. Hermione was anything but predictable. What would set her off one day would have her melting into him on another, and he had long since given up trying to figure out the pattern as a lost cause. Tonight he was lucky, and she turned to him, her arm sliding around his waist as she buried her face into his chest. He rested his chin on top of her head, opening his mouth to speak. But in typical Hermione fashion, she beat him to it.

"Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come home and snap at you like that, but Elkins has been on my case all week, I have four reports due, and everything seems to be coming at me at once. When I said that I was worried about Harry, it was only because I know he hasn't been doing well in the written portion of his classes. He does wonderfully out in the field at the spur of the moment, but he isn't very good at planning things out, and he can't seem to picture tactics and manuevers in his head just by looking at them on a piece of paper like you can."

The twelve year old that lived in the dark recesses of Ron's mind cheered at this bit of praise, but he squashed it back, focusing on what was fast becoming a flood of words from his fiance's mouth.

"And I wasn't trying to imply that I thought your worries weren't important! I know how much this means for you and how hard you've worked for it! I was just trying to tell you that I believe you have nothing to worry about because there's no way you could possibly fail, but every time I try to tell you that, t-the words come out all w-wrong and I just end up m-making you a-angry!"

Her words ended with a small wail, as she had begun to cry again, her body shaking with repressed sobs. Her tears had already soaked through the thick material of his pullover, and he saw that her nose was red when he cupped her cheek to tilt her face towards his. Gently, he brushed his thumb over her lips, halting her explanations.

"Easy, there! Hermione, calm down. I know you didn't mean anything by it. It's just that I've been so wound up lately, it didn't take much to set me off. These last couple of months I've been a right bastard, and I've hardly said anything to you that hasn't been some sort of complaint. That's not fair to you, and I'm sorry for that."

Her sobbing had subsided, but tears still hung in her eyes. "I still should have handled that better. What you're dealing with is hard enough, and I never should have mentioned Harry."

Ron sighed deeply. Just as he had thought, she had taken it wrong. "Look, I'm not...I'm not jealous of Harry, if that's what you're thinking. It's just that it's hard enough as it is always being linked with him and having everything I do measured up against him during training, that when I come home, I don't really want to deal with it here, too. I know it's not a competition. It's just hard trying to live up to him and everything that he's done. Impossible, actually."

"What do you mean, 'everything that he's done'? You've done just as much as Harry!"

He snorted so hard it ruffled her fringe. "I'm sorry, did you miss the whole defeating Voldemort bit?" He asked dryly.

"Ron," she spoke, her voice earnest, "don't you see? Harry had to do those things. He never had a choice!"

"I know that. I'm not saying he did. But-"

"All the things he's done, it's only because he would have been killed otherwise! But you, you always had a choice! And you chose to risk your life, time and again, because your friend needed you! You could have stopped at any point, and no one would have blamed you, but you didn't!"

His eyes darkened as thoughts of a cold, rainy night in a wooded area far from home filled his mind.

"But I did stop. Remember?" His voice was rough with self-loathing.

Hermione dug her fingers into his shirt, gripping him tightly. "And you came back!" She answered him fiercely, her eyes telling him that she wouldn't let him go there, wouldn't listen as he put himself down.

He closed his eyes, holding back the sting of his own tears. "You say all these things, and sometimes I can almost make myself believe them. But other times, I'm about thirteen again, and it's like I have no confidence at all."

That wasn't something he had been intending to confide, and regretted it as soon as her fresh tears registered.

"I know. And I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can't make you see you the way I do! What do I have to do, Ron? Why can I never find the right words to get through to you? Sometimes I think you'd be better off with someone who could-"

"Don't. Say that. Ever!" He growled, covering her mouth with his hand. "Don't talk as if you're not the best thing that's ever happened to me, because you are. Don't talk as if the thought alone of being with someone else doesn't make me sick. Understand?"

At her nod, he removed his hand, ducking his head to kiss her. He had meant it to be brief and reassuring, but her hand shot from his chest to his hair, holding him in place as she deepened it, her lips parting to allow her tongue to dart out. He groaned into her mouth as her leg raised up to hook over his waist, knowing where this was headed. After these types of fights, each one seemed almost desperate to get as close as possible to the other, as if to say with their bodies what their words failed to convey.

Gripping her at the back of her knee, he pulled her tighter against him, grinding himself into her. His hand slid further up her thigh, reaching her arse, guiding her hips as she began to thrust. Her hands had wandered to the edge of his jumper, pushing it higher to stroke the heated skin of his abs, which had gained a nice definition during training. As his shirt reached his shoulders, he twisted awkwardly to help her remove it, tossing it back towards the foot of the bed. Deciding that things would be even better if she too, was topless, he tugged the thin material over her head, a strangled sound catching in the back of his throat when he saw that she was braless. His hands, large to begin with, looked even bigger splayed over her ribcage. He inched them up to cover her breasts, which were bobbing with her ragged breaths in what he always considered an enticing manner. She arched her back as his thumbs skimmed circles around her nipples, her eyes almost black with desire. Not content to merely touch, he lowered his head and engulfed one bud with his mouth, sucking it into a firm peak.

Even after over four years together, he never got tired of this, of watching her come completely undone at his touch. It was during these moments where everything else was washed away. All his doubts and fears, the daily stresses of life ceased to exist. It was just Hermione that all of his thoughts and senses were focused on, and what made it even better was the fact that he knew it was the same way for her. Her mind wasn't on work or books, none of their various friends or family. It was all him, and his name never fell sweeter from her lips than it did when she called out for him.

Trailing his mouth downwards, he slipped his fingers into the elastic waistbands of both her pants and knickers, pulling them down to her knees as he nibbled on her hipbone. She worked them down to her ankles and kicked them away, her legs spreading as he settled himself between them. Her folds were already slick with moisture, which he eagerly lapped up before he went to work on her clit. His tongue flicked over it in short, firm strokes, which he alternated with sucking. Tracing his fingers around her entrance, he dipped one inside of her, starting a slow pace that he quickened when her hands tangled in her hair and she began bucking into his mouth. Adding a second finger, he crooked them forward, hitting the spot that always got her off the fastest. Her cries became louder, and he felt her muscles clamp down on him as the waves of her orgasm crashed down on him.

He crawled up her body, shedding his jeans and boxers as he went. As her body shook, he placed small kisses up the column of her neck to the spot behind her jaw, nipping the tender skin. His cock was hard, and he rubbed it into her thigh for a bit of relief. She moved under him, wordlessly signalling that she was ready. With a smooth thrust borne of much practice he entered her, groaning at the tightness. Her heels locked together behind him, urging him in deeper. Sweat slicked both of their bodies as they moved together, fringe clinging damply to foreheads as the curses he had been holding back escaped him. His thrusts became harder as her nails raked paths down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. He held out as long as he could before he felt the familiar tightening in his stomach. At his release his mind went blank, barely registering his name being shouted once more. When he floated back into his body, he rolled to the side, fearful that he had crushed her. Apparently he hadn't, for she only smiled up at him sleepily before kissing his jaw.

Rolling onto his back, he tried to hold on to the lightness that filled him for as long as possible, the fingers of his left hand toying with her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder while she traced slow patterns on his chest. He sighed contentedly, feeling better than he had in days. They had fought, cleared the air, and made up. It would all happen again, he knew, but that was just the way they were; they were both stubborn and temperamental, but that didn't mean they didn't love and respect each other. Their relationship had always had it's ups and downs, but it was much steadier than it had been when they were children, and he was sure, given time, that it would become even more so. The bickering would continue, but their most explosive battles should become fewer and farther between.

"Ron, we can't go on like this."

Her words startled him out of his thoughts like a bludger to the gut. He flipped onto his side, his eyes searching hers for any sign that she didn't mean what she was saying.

He didn't find any.

"Wha- but, I thought we were sorted? It wasn't that bad, was it? I know I can be hard to deal with, but to say you're ready to chuck it in already-" his voice cracked, but he didn't care. All he could hear was his world shattering around him.

Hermione blinked rapidly, quickly scrambling into a seated position and taking his face in her hands.

"No! I don't mean us! I mean the horrible way we fight!"

The beating of his heart slowed back down to something approaching a normal pace at her words. "What do you mean? You know we say things we don't mean when we get mad, Hermione. We've always been that way. We blow up, and then we get over it."

She released a heavy sigh. "I know that. That doesn't mean that I like it, or that it's right. I hate how we do this to each other, and we never seem to fix things between this. We always end up...distracting ourselves, and then ignoring it."

"We're getting better." He muttered, unable to argue with the accuracy of her statement.

A fine eyebrow arched in response. "Are we really? Ron, we may be alright now, but I can't help but believe that we're just going to keep bottling up all these little things until one of us finally explodes. I don't think I could take that. You...you mean too much to me to lose you over something like this."

"What do you think we can do about it?" He asked in resignation, knowing she was right. He had been lucky with her up until now; surely he could only press his luck so far before she got sick of trying.

He watched curiously as she shifted away, her eyes darting around as she chewed on her lower lip. Interesting. This was the way she acted when she had either done something that would possibly get her into trouble, or was about to. He didn't think he had seen her look like that since after the war while he was still living back at the Burrow, sneaking around behind his mum's back to do decidedly more than snogging.

"Do you remember Seth and Justine Carrington?" She finally asked.

Eyes scrunched in thought, he matched the names to faces of a couple that worked in the Ministry. "Yeah, what about them?"

"Well, you saw them at last year's Christmas party. There was practically a wall of ice between them, and rumors were flying about them headed for divorce."

Ron winced, none to happy at bringing up divorce before they were even married. Then a thought struck him. "Hold up, didn't we run into them in the shops about a month ago? We did! And if I remember right, they were completely soppy over each other. Almost enough to put me off my lunch!"

Hermione beamed at him, nodding eagerly. "Exactly! I found out why, too. They went to this new therapist in a last ditch effort to patch things up, and it worked wonders! I was skeptical, but I've done a bit of research, and this woman is really good at what she does. Apparently, she's developed an entirely new method of couple's therapy." She spoke faster when she saw the doubt begin to cloud his face. "From what I've heard, the sessions last under a month, which is practically a miracle in itself. So it's not like it would take up much of your time-"

"I dunno, Hermione. Are you sure there isn't another way?"

Her eyes narrowed at his interruption. "Are you saying that we're not worth it?" She asked with a hint of frost to her voice.

He leaned back, hands raised in defense at what he mentally referred to as her 'canary face.' "Not what I meant! I'm just not keen on some stranger pushing her nose into our business and telling us we're doing everything wrong, is all."

The stiffness in her shoulders relaxed as the defensiveness seeped out of her. "The idea doesn't thrill me too much either, but I really think we should give it a chance. Besides...I heard there are, um...added benefits to her methods." She mumbled the last part almost too low for him to hear.

"And what would that be?"

Her face flushed a deep shade of red that he was more accustomed to seeing on his own face as she answered, "I'm told that no matter how good your sex life is, it always ends up even better after the sessions have ended. So will you please consider thinking about it? You would at least get something out of it this way."

He fluffed up his pillow, watching her out of the corner of his eye. If he was honest, it didn't really sound all that bad. And if he went along, at least this way she could never say he hadn't made the effort, right? More than anything, he wanted things between them to work. He had come close to losing her so many times before, and the thought of that actually happening was unbearable.

"Hermione, you don't have to bribe me with sex, as brilliant as that sounds. Make an appointment, and we'll see how it goes."

The air was knocked out of him as she lunged herself onto his body to wrap him in a hug, a pleased smile lighting her features. "I'll look into it on my way home tomorrow. I only have to work a half day, so I should be home in time for a late lunch."

He arranged his limbs to accommodate her frame more comfortably. "I only have morning exercises tomorrow. They're telling us to spend more time in self study, so I'll be here when you get back. Just try to set things up for a weekend meeting, if you can."

Hermione nodded happily, snuggling into him. He watched her as she drifted off. He really, really hoped he hadn't agreed to something he was going to regret. Of course, he supposed the worst thing that could happen was that this woman would try to get him to talk about things with Hermione that he had no intention of ever discussing. That shouldn't be too hard to avoid; Hermione knew the issues that he couldn't even deal with himself, much less get into with her. She wouldn't press him. So really, he had nothing to worry about, right?

That would have been true if they had stuck to the conventional methods of talking a problem through. But Ron was about to learn that he had much more than words to fear...

The next day, Hermione watched the seconds tick away on her office clock impatiently, grabbing her briefcase and making for the exit the moment it struck eleven. Using the Floo network to get to the Leaky Cauldron, she found the small side-street off of Diagon Alley where the address she was looking for was situated. She had expected something professional looking, and was surprised when she saw that she was standing in front of a quaint three story Victorian style home. It was painted in a soothing shade of blue with yellow and white trim, and when she stepped inside, the color scheme followed her.

To the left of the door sat a heavy set receptionist with frizzy brown hair, with a small name tag that read, 'Mildred.' She smiled up at Hermione pleasantly, and asked if she could be of any help.

"Yes, I was hoping to make an appointment with Dr. Fletcher. If it's possible, sometime on a weekend would be best."

Mildred flipped open an appointment book, with appointments in glowing red ink, and free dates in blue. Taking up a quill, she glanced at Hermione inquiringly.

"There is a questionnaire for the two of you to fill out before your appointment is confirmed, but if you take it home tonight and have it owled back in the morning, we can set you up for next weekend."

"That would be perfect. Is that all I need to do?"

"I just need your names, relationship status, length of said relationship, and what you hope to address in these meetings."

"I'm Hermione Granger, and my fiance's name is Ron Weasley. We've been together just over four years, but have known each other closer to eleven." She hesitated, wondering how best to word the next part.

"I suppose you could say we're hoping to work out our communication issues before we get married."

Mildred nodded approvingly as she jotted the answers down in neat, tidy script. "Premarital counselling then? A wise idea." She turned to a short filing cabinet, pulling out two thin stacks of paper from a yellow coded folder.

"Each of you needs to fill one of these out. Please answer honestly, and to the best of your ability. If we receive them before nine, we can have your reply by noon. So, unless you have any questions, I think you're all set!"

Hermione took the papers, hoping Ron would do his part without too much grumbling. Paperwork had never been something he was keen on.

"Is there anything we should be prepared for on our first session? I have a general idea of how things work normally, but I've been lead to believe that things are done differently here."

"That is true, but it's nothing to worry about. Further instructions will be sent along with your confirmation, and will explain what is expected of you."

With that, Hermione was wished a good day, and she stepped outside to Apparate home. Ron was back in his nest of books and papers on the couch, but unlike yesterday, he noticed her arrival. He stood with a smile, crossing the room to pull her into a loose embrace, kissing her softly.

"So how did it go? Did you find out anything useful?"

Hermione walked over to the couch, setting her briefcase on the coffee table. "If things go well, we should have our first appointment next weekend."

Ron cocked his head to the side, following her and clearing a space on the couch. "Don't you know whether we do or not?"

He was handed a sheaf of papers as an answer. "We have to fill these questions out and send them in, and then they'll send us an answer."

Groaning, he ran his hand through his hair. "Merlin's flabby tits!Are you seriously telling me we have to take a test for this?"

She crossed her arms, her chin jutting forward. "It's not a test! It's only a few simple questions, and I'm sure they're used in some way to evaluate what we need to work on. Come on, I'll change my clothes, and it won't take us long at all. After we're done, we can go out for lunch."

Knowing he was being bribed with food but unable to muster any resistance, he plopped down, taking up his quill and preparing to get it over with. Hermione went to the bedroom and changed into a pair of jeans and a purple turtleneck, then rejoined him.

Half a page in, Ron looked up to gaze at her incredulously. "What the bloody hell? What kinds of questions are these? 'Do you prefer bacon or sausage? If you were reincarnated, would you be a trout, or a duck? Explain your answer.' Hermione, are you sure this woman's not an escapee from Saint Mungo's?" He read over the paper once more. "Or a relative of Luna's, for that matter?"

Hermione's mouth worked silently as she tried to come up with an answer, when in truth she was just as befuddled as he was. "I don't understand...none of this makes any sense, but her results don't lie. At least the questions aren't too personal or invasive." She finished weekly.

A non-committal grunt was her only response, but she figured it was best to leave it at that. As he worked, she noticed he frequently snickered in amusement, so at least he was entertained enough to go through with it.

Twenty minutes later they had both finished, and folded the papers into envelopes for Pig to deliver in the morning. As they got ready to go out, Hermione gave them one last look. She hoped that the actual appointment was more straightforward.

The next day, she sent the questionnaire off early, Pig streaking into the sky energetically. She was concerned when he hadn't returned an hour later, but relaxed when he came fluttering in at a quarter to noon, a letter clutched in his claws. Taking it from him, she gave him a treat and a scratch on the neck, placing him in his cage while he hooted in contentment.

"Was that Pig?" Ron called from the kitchen, where he was working through a plate full of ham sandwiches.

Hermione had opened the letter and scanned it quickly as she walked back to the table, sitting in front of him.

"Yes, he came back with the answer. We're supposed to be there at seven Friday morning. The strange part is, we're supposed to make arrangements to be gone until Sunday evening."

Ron nearly choked on his sandwich. That sounded far to long to talk about squishy things like feelings and emotions in one setting. He had expanded himself beyond teaspoon range, but this was pushing it. Still, Hermione said that these things usually didn't last more than a month, so it made sense, in a weird sort of way. Maybe he could get Hermione to do most of the talking. He hid a smile. Who was he kidding? If questions were being asked, she wouldn't be able to help herself! If he was lucky, the most he would have to do was nod and make noises of agreement. There was only one other thing to take care of.

"Well, we both have a four day weekend next week, but have you forgotten? We were supposed to spend most of it at the Burrow. What are you planning on telling my family?"

Hermione blinked. "Why can't we just tell them the truth? There's no reason to be ashamed of what we're doing, and I'm sure everyone would be supportive."

Smirking, he rested his elbows on the table, propping his chin in his hands. "That's not the point. This is my family we're talking about, remember? Weasleys? Red hair? Bad sweaters? An opinion for absolutely everything? Do you honestly believe you can tell them what we're going to do, and have them leave it at that? Face it, everyone will have to get their two knuts in, and none of them will agree with the other, and we'll end up smack in the middle of it."

Her eyes closed tightly, a throbbing sensation developing at her temples. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. She could vividly picture it now.

His smile stretched larger as he pointed a long finger at her. "Feel that? That's the ghost of Headaches Yet to Come. Still think it's a good idea to tell them?"

Sighing loudly, she made her decision. "Alright, you may have a point. Let's just tell them we decided to take a trip together, just the two of us. We can blame it on the stress at work, and say we haven't been able to see much of each other because of it. It wouldn't even be a lie."

Ron let out a laugh. "Perfect. I love it when you get all devious. Brings back fond childhood memories."

Hermione pursed her lips. "I'm not devious! I'm...pragmatic." she said primly.

"Yeah, I'm sure Rita Skeeter thought you were being 'pragmatic' when you kept her in that bottle, or-"

She kicked his shin, but he only laughed harder, and after a few minutes, she joined him. One of the things she had always loved about Ron was his ability to get her to take things less seriously, herself included.

"Alright, if we're going to be gone three days, I'm going to have to study harder to make up for it." He said, sending his plate to the sink and getting ready to leave the room. Seeing her face fall, he added, "You can help me with the history of Aurors portion, if you'd like. I need to find some way to drill these dates into my head."

Perking up instantly, she began to go on about memory tricks and study plans, delighted to be in her element. Ron was reminded of cramming for tests back at school, not something he recalled fondly. But watching her denim covered arse as she walked away, his mood lightened. He did have his own methods of loosening Professor Granger up, after all. And he had absolutely no problem with resorting to devious means if necessary.

The week flew by, and they were able to keep their squabbles to a manageable level. Each time things started to go too far, their eyes would meet, and they were reminded of exactly what these meetings would hopefully solve. Both felt a mixture of impatience and eagerness to get this over with, so it was with twisting stomachs and jangling nerves that found them on the doorstep of the blue Victorian early on Friday morning.

Ron's jaw popped in a loud yawn as he followed her inside, taking in their surroundings as she checked in with the receptionist. The woodwork was polished cherry, and it gleamed in the light of lamps placed around the room. Cushy armchairs and couches in navy blue were spread out, along with tables containing the usual magazines.

"If you'll step this way, Dr. Fletcher is ready to see you now. You're the first appointment of the day, so there's no sense in having you wait."

They were lead down the hall into a small room that was furnished with the same type of furniture as the waiting room; a couch facing a chair, with a small table in the middle. There were a few pictures on the walls, nature scenes that mostly featured bodies of water. Sitting in the chair was a woman who looked to be less than ten years older than them, with startling white blond hair and blue eyes behind large, purple framed glasses. She was dressed fairly casually in a pressed pair of dark washed jeans and a pink button down shirt topped by a rose pullover. Going by the hair and the almost other-wordly look in her eyes, Ron was even more suspicious of a connection to Luna. That thought was blasted away as her eyes suddenly became shrewd and calculating, taking their measure before they were seated.

"Good morning, Ron, Hermione." She reached forward to shake their hands, her grip firm. "My name is Dr. Fletcher, but please, call me Ursula. I know you may be confused as to why you'll be staying here for nearly three days, but I assure you, it will be clear once you understand exactly what you're going to be doing. Now, I'm sure you have questions before we begin, so fire away!"

She had a light, pleasant voice, and an understanding and capable manner that inspired confidences.

"What was the point of all those barmy questions you made us fill out?" Ron blurted, earning a glare and a hiss to behave from Hermione.

Ursula threw back her head, laughing. "No, that's fine! Most people have the same question. The simple answer is that it weeds out a lot of people that aren't serious about this. I have no intention on wasting my time on someone that isn't committed. And," she smiled devilishly, dimples forming in each cheek, "some of the answers I get are quite entertaining. You'd also be surprised with how much people unknowingly reveal about themselves."

"Such as?" Ron asked again, but this time with no protest from Hermione, who was quite curious herself.

"Such as the fact that you would rather be almost anywhere but here, but that Hermione is important enough for you to overlook your reservations and give this a try."

Ron was shocked. "You got all that from the fact that I like bacon?"

The blond shrugged. "What can I say? I'm good at what I do." She glanced at the small silver watch on her wrist. "How about I start explaining things, and you can ask about whatever you feel that I don't cover?"

At their nods, she sat back, steepling her fingers under her chin. "As you know, this is an entirely new method of therapy, and one, I'm happy to say, that is strongly suited to the two of you. Most of the time conventional means are used, which can mean years of slogging through past events, trying to untangle the the feelings and actions behind them. Apart from the fact that this his highly tedious," Ron found himself in fervent agreement, thankful that he would be spared. "I don't think that would help you very much. You, Ron, are very stubborn, and you don't easily talk about your emotions. You would clam up and withhold, not because you were trying to be difficult, but because you feel as if you lack the means to properly express yourself, and you are afraid of being misunderstood. Hermione, you are also stubborn, but whereas Ron is reticent, you would prefer to take everything apart and study it until you understood it. Both of you would become frustrated, and more problems than solutions would resolve. Do you think that is a fair statement?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged looks, wordlessly communicating how uneasy they were about the fact that she had them pegged so easily. Once again, they nodded, waiting for her to go on.

For a moment, she only watched them, but when she spoke, it was with utter gravity. "Before we continue, I need to stress how important it is that you trust each other. Don't answer lightly; others have, and later regretted it."

"I trust him." Hermione's answer came immediately, no hesitation or doubt in her voice.

Ursula sat forward intently. "Are you sure of that? You have no doubt at all? You're positive he will be there to support you through this?"

Dreading her answer, he turned to face her. Her eyes met his while she answered. "I'm sure. Ron wouldn't leave me. Not for anything."

Her simple words made him want to cry. For years he had been burdened with the guilt of abandoning her during the search for the Horcruxes, sure that her faith in him would never fully heal. For the first time, he saw a glimmer of hope that he was wrong. He squeezed the hand that had made it's way into his, his heart feeling light.

"And you, Ron? You've been awfully quiet. Is that you're way of saying-"

"I trust Hermione with my life!" He answered angrily, almost growling.

Blue eyes regarded him for a long, tense moment.

"That's good to hear. Now that that's been cleared up, we can move on. Are both of you familiar with what a Pensieve is and how it is used? Good. That was actually what I based all of my work on. What you are going to be doing is very similar."

A sense of dread began to form in Ron's stomach, much like he used to get before a Quidditch game.

"I have developed a way to access a person's memories so that not only can you see them, but you can feel their emotions and hear their thoughts at the same time. This means that complete understanding between two people can be achieved; no holding back, no miscommunications. What you will be doing is opening yourself up to the other, letting them see everything from your early childhood to the present. Not every second, you understand, but events that shaped who you are as an individual, and who you are as a couple. That's why you'll be here three days. The two of you are relatively young, so I think it will be possible to do this in one session, taking into account that time spent in memories passes faster than that on the outside. Do you think you're ready for this?"

No. No, he most definitely was not ready! Panic bubbled in his chest. He did not want to do this. There were so many things he didn't want her to see, so many flaws he never wanted her to find! He lurched to his his feet, the thought of escape the only thing on his mind.

"Ron? You just said you trusted her with your life. Has that changed?"

He halted, confused. "Of course not! But this is different, this is-"

"This is your life. Your hopes and fears, weaknesses and strengths. Everything that makes you, you. Trusting someone to keep you alive is easier than you think. No, what's hard is laying yourself bare to another, trusting that in the end, their love for you will remain unchanged."

Her words ran through his head, searing him with their truth. He felt a tug on his hand, and looked down into Hermione's eyes, seeing fear but also determination.

"There are things I would prefer that you never saw, Ron. I won't lie and say I'm not afraid, because I am. But if there was one person I had to share myself with, one person I would let know everything about me, that person would be you."

He closed his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath. He still didn't want to do this. But the fact that she was afraid too gave him an odd sort of comfort. She was willing to go this far to ensure that their future was a happy one. After all the times he had let her down in the past, all the times he had failed to support her, could he afford to be that selfish now? He was supposed to be a Gryiffindor for Merlin's sake! This could be the making or the breaking of them. But if he walked away now, he knew he would be planting seeds of doubt, and that Hermione would always wonder what was inside of him that he didn't trust her with, and it would drive her mad.

Hermione did not do well with unsolved puzzles.

Besides, if he was honest, there were a lot of things that this would answer for him, things he had always been too afraid to ask. He probably wouldn't like some of the answers. Hell, he was sure of it. But he knew Hermione, didn't he? All of the impotant things about her. He loved her, and nothing he learned now was going to change that, and he had to trust that it was the same for her. After all, if they didn't have trust, what did they have? Nothing. And he refused to believe that, that that there could possibly be a future that didn't end with them together.

"Alright. I'll do it." The words barely squeezed around the lump in his throat, but he got them out. The smile he got from Hermione made him sure he was doing the right thing.

"Excellent. If you'll follow me, we can get started." Ursula said briskly, standing and striding to the door. Hands laced together tightly, Hermione and Ron followed, down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down a hallway. They entered a small bedroom, with two single beds on either side of the room.

"Go ahead and get comfortable while I set everything up. It won't take long."

"Um, 'scuse me, but why are there two beds? Do we really need to be separated for this?" Ron questioned.

Ursula looked at him in surprise, then her expression softened into kindness. "Many of the couples that come here prefer the distance. Besides, you won't be aware of one another during this anyway."

Ron's ears grew red, and he kept his eyes trained on his feet as he muttered, "Maybe so, but we're doing this together, right? Even if I don't know she's not there, I don't like the idea of not having her next to me."

The woman watched the body language of the younger couple, coming to a decision. "Follow me."

Once again, they went down another hallway and into a bedroom, this one having a twin bed. They sat down on either side, removing their shoes before leaning back against the headboard.

Out of the small leather bag that she had summoned, the doctor pulled out several various colored patches, explaining their function as she applied them.

"The blue ones at your temple act as connectors, allowing the memories to flow between you. The purple ones on your forearms will put your bodies in a type of suspended animation, making things such as food unnecessary. The room is charmed to monitor your health, and if anything goes wrong, an alarm will go off. There have never been any problems, so I don't expect anything to go wrong now. Once I tap the blue patches with my wand, you will experience a falling sensation, and the memories will begin. Are you ready?"

She watched as the hands between them twined together, their faces pale but resolute. It was good that they were nervous; they would be better prepared. What they were about to do was by no means easy.

At their quiet words of assent, she raised her wand. "I don't get to say this to many couples, but I think the two of you are going to be fine. There is something special between you, I can feel it. Hold on to that, no matter what you see. Hold on to it tightly."

A small tap, an electric zing, and they were falling, falling into darkness, the last thing fading the warmth and pressure of clasped hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for everyone who has taken the time to read, review, favorite and follow this fic! Your support has been wonderful! Happy birthday to heronlove; hope I got this out there in time!

IMPORTANT: I've posted these two chapters at once to show how I plan for the story to progress. One chapter will focus on Hermione, and the next on Ron, but they will both cover the same time periods. I feel this will help the story flow better, especially in cases where there are memories that chapters should be a bit more descriptive and in-depth. If anyone finds it confusing, please let me know. As always, feedback is very, very welcome!

Lights and colors swirled around Ron at a dizzying pace, causing his stomach to struggle to keep up. The sensation was much like the first few times he had ever Apparated; thankfully, he was able to keep his breakfast down. Once the spots cleared from his vision, he looked around to find himself in what looked to be the room of a small girl. The small girl sitting on the bed being the dead giveaway. It was a Hermione he had only seen in pictures while visiting her family's house; pudgy cheeks, frizzy, chin length hair, slightly protruding front teeth.

From her window he could see the oak tree in the yard, telling him that this was the same room she would have years later. But instead of the purple walls that he was familiar with, these were pale pink, with framed pictures of cuddly looking animals. The bed was covered in a pink and white frilly quilt, and stuffed toys were scattered around the young girl sitting in the middle. A bookshelf filled with brightly colored children's books took up one wall, causing him to smile. Even at three, Hermione was already obsessed with books.

She had one clutched in her hands as she sprawled on her stomach, tiny pajama covered legs swinging back and forth behind her. Humming, she flicked through the pages at a pace just a little too fast to be actually reading.

With a jolt, he realized he could feel the excitement from her almost as if it was his own, along from the sleepiness she was stubbornly battling. It was her favorite time of day; story time. Her mother should be coming through the door soon, and then the nightly journey into magical, far off lands could begin.

As if on cue, the bedroom door swung open, and Ron found himself next to a younger version of Hermione's mother. Not much had changed about her. The fine lines around her eyes and forehead were missing, and her dark brown hair was longer, coming to the middle of her back, but she still had the same slender figure as always. Her husband followed her in, and he too was nearly the same, minus the small stomach he would develop in later years, and his hair wasn't receding but flopping around his forehead and ears in a mass of untidy curls.

Both of them joined Hermione on the bed, pushing aside the stuffed animals to make room, Hermione practically wiggling under the covers with wide-eyed joy. Helen took the book from Hermione, glancing at the cover.

"This one again, sweetie? But you've already heard it three times this week. Are you sure you wouldn't like to hear something else?"

Her daughter shook her head, her curly hair jiggling around her shoulders. "No! I want this one, Mummy!" Her high little voice was determined.

The adults shared a look over her head, each silently blaming the other for their child's inherited stubbornness. With a mutual sigh, Richard wrapped an arm around Hermione as Helen began to read.

Ron didn't bother paying any attention to the story, but focused on the emotions from Hermione. He had always assumed that her love of books had stemmed from her overwhelming desire to absorb every bit of knowledge in the known universe, but he couldn't have been more wrong. The sheer joy and wonder that the words sparked in her imagination were rich with bright sounds and color, her amazement at things that happened beyond the realm of her normal, everyday boundaries fascinated her. Through her eyes, the world became an exciting place full of possibilities, and Ron knew he would never quite be able to look at books in the same dry and disinterested way again.

As the story came to a close, she smiled up at her parents in satisfaction, stroking the book's front cover lovingly, as one would a beloved pet.

"I want to read it now." She stated.

"You mean you want me to read it to you again? I'm sorry, Hermione, but you know the rule; only one story a night."

Rosy cheeks plumped out, and dark brows lowered. "No, I want to read it like you do, Mummy. Then I can read it whenever I want."

Helen patted her daughter on the head. "You're still a bit too young, love. In a few years."

"NO! I want to do it now!"

Ron snickered. That stubborn set to her jaw meant she wasn't going to give in until she got what she wanted. He had been on the receiving end of it often enough to know when he was facing a losing battle.

The expression was mirrored by her mother, who looked ready to launch into a lecture on all the reasons why this wouldn't be possible. The sound of a throat clearing made her pause.

"Why don't we let her try? You were saying the other day how advanced she was for her age, and it's not unheard of for children this young to learn to read." He said reasonably.

Hermione's eyes darted back and forth between her parents, sensing a shift in her favor. Though her father was the quieter of the two and usually let her mother have her way, when he did speak up, she listened to what he had to say.

After a moment of consideration, she spoke to Hermione. "Alright, if you really want to learn. Just remember, everything you want is going to take lots of effort and hard work. Once you start something, you have to see it through to the finish, okay?"

Solemnly, Hermione nodded. She was a generally well-behaved child, and almost always listened to her parents. And now she was going to get to read! Soon, she could take any book from the shelf and lose herself in it, and not have to wait for Mummy and Daddy!

Grinning from his spot against the opposite wall, Ron witnessed the first signs of the dedication and determination that would come to be so typical of Hermione. As she was tucked in, the world around him began to swirl once more, and he was moved along to the next memory.

Standing across from a long brick building that hordes of young children were streaming into, Ron felt his knees shake with nervous anticipation. Peering around, he spotted Hermione and her parents. This time she was five, and wearing the blue and white checked dress that he recalled from the picture of her first day in a Muggle school. She clutched her bookbag tightly, equally excited about all the new things she was going to be learning about, and the friends she was hoping to make. They would sit together during lunch, talk at recess, and maybe even visit one another's houses. There were so many things in her new books for them to study together, and she was sure they would have loads of fun!

Ron winced, foreseeing rough times ahead for her already. From the few things she had let slip about her early schooling, these years had been anything but pleasant. Her parents seemed to realize this too, for they shared a worried look behind her.

He followed along as she bounced happily into the building and down a hallway filled with shrieking children, until they turned left into a room. There were small tables and chairs filling the center, with a large desk in the corner. Hermione found the seat that had her name on the table in front of it, and waved goodbye to her parents, eager for the lessons to begin.

Her disappointment was keen that first day, as they did little more than things that seemed like a waste of time to her. She could color in a coloring book at home; when were they going to teach her new things? She turned to the chubby boy that was sitting next to her to see what he thought, only to recoil in horror. He was eating paste! He grinned widely at her, face sticky with the thick white substance. Ron shared her disgust, already able to tell that this was one of those kids that would eat anything they could stick in their mouths.

Quickly, Hermione focused on the girl in front of her, who had wavy brown hair held back with a pale pink headband that matched her dress.

"Hello. My name is Hermione. I thought we would be learning something today, didn't you?"

The little girl stared at her blankly for a few moments. "I'm Samantha. Did you expect them to teach us how to read on the very first day or something?"

Hermione blinked at the harsh sounding tone of voice, but tried to be friendly. "Well, no. I just thought there would be something. Besides, my mum already taught me how to read."

She had hoped this might start a conversation about favorite books or other shared interests, but Samantha only sneered at her more.

"Oh, so you're one of those. A know-it-all. Do you think you're special just because mummy taught you to read? She'd have been better off doing something about those gross teeth of yours." She giggled nastily, and the olive skinned boy beside her joined in.

Tears stung the back of her eyes, and Ron could feel them as well. Hermione wasn't used to things like that being said to her; she had grown up with loving (though not always available) parents, with no siblings to introduce her to the finer arts of teasing and torment.

"M-my parents say they can fix them when the permanent ones come in." Hermione answered, holding back the urge to cry, her hands clutching tightly at the strap of her bookbag.

The boy next to Samantha, Kevin, chimed in, "But can they fix your hair? I think I saw something moving in there!"

She raised a trembling hand to her hair self-consciously as the other children laughed harder, her eyes darting around to find anyone with hair similar to her own. She found short hair, long hair, curly, wavy and straight, thick and thin, but she was the only one in the room with bushy hair. As the taunting continued, it felt as if it frizzed out more, and her mouth closed tightly over teeth that suddenly felt too large in her mouth.

Ron ached along with her. Children, he knew, could be cruel, but watching Hermione discover that for herself was harder than he had thought it would be. To him, Hermione had always been so strong and seemingly self-assured. Malfoy had called her far worse things and had received little to no reaction, so he had assumed she had always been that way. But this was a younger, softer Hermione; one that believed that if you were nice to others, they would be nice to you.

The teacher spoke from the front of the room, drawing the children's attention to the next activity. It was too late. The enthusiasm she had started out with had been crushed, and all she wanted to do was go home and crawl into her mother's lap to cry. The brightly colored books on the shelves no longer interested her, and it looked as if making friends was going to be much harder than she had imagined.

Things around him seemed to fast forward, days passing in quick succession as he watched her classmates repeatedly bring her to tears. He felt himself growing angrier and angrier, until he turned around and found himself in the living room of Hermione's house. Hermione was seated on an overstuffed green couch next to a teenage girl with short, choppy brown hair and blue eyes, which flashed with anger as the younger girl told her all about her school troubles. Her own textbooks forgotten, all of her attention was focused on Hermione.

From the thoughts he was getting from Hermione, Ron knew that this girl's name was Jackie, and that she frequently baby-sat Hermione when her parents were out, which was quite often, seeing as how they were very busy with several charities they were involved in. Hermione had known her all of her life, and looked up to her and respected her a great deal. Whatever she was going to say was going to have a great impact on Hermione, and Ron sat on the edge of the nearby armchair to listen.

"It sounds as if you've been stuck in a class of brainless monkeys. Honestly, I don't know where they get the nerve to be insulting you. I imagine half of them can't even wipe themselves, much less recite the alphabet or count higher than three."

Hermione choked on a laugh, covering her hands with her mouth. Ron snickered as well, already deciding that he liked this girl.

The laughing didn't last long before Hermione's eyes saddened once more. "But I don't understand. I try so hard to be their friend, but they just keep being mean to me! I try to help them with things, and they get mad about it. What am I doing wrong?"

The sadness and confusion, along with a heavy dose of hurt, swirled in her chest, which Ron experienced through the connection. Hermione liked helping people. She enjoyed teaching them new things, watching them be able to do something they couldn't before. Though he had always known it deep down, Ron saw that what others mistook for a superior nature was rooted in concern for others; she genuinely wanted others to do better so they could be happy. She shared knowledge not because she thought she was better than anyone else, but because she found the information so fascinating and assumed others would also. What she didn't understand was why people got mad when she tried to show them they were doing something wrong; wasn't it better to learn the right way? Didn't that make things easier? Her parents had always taught her that if you could help someone, then you should. Why hadn't they told her that people wouldn't want her help? Was there something wrong with her?

"You aren't doing anything wrong, Hermione. People can be cruel, even to the ones who are trying to help them. Especially if you're different than them, which you are. You've always been more serious and more mature than other kids your age, and I suspect that frightens them. The fact that you can do so many things they can't probably makes them jealous, too. You need to stop letting them see how much it bothers you. You've given them power over you, and you need to take it back."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, not fully understanding that last part. "What kind of power? You mean like when they hit me, or steal my things and break them?"

Jackie's jaw tightened, and Ron could tell she would be having a talk with Hermione's parents when they got home. "No, that's not what I mean. You're so upset by what these people are saying, and your feelings are hurt. You've even started to think some of it is true, when it isn't. They enjoy seeing your pain, and you're letting them. Why? You don't like them, and in a few years, you probably will never see most of them again in your life."

"What do I do, then?"

Taking Hermione's chin in her hand gently, she stared into her eyes. "Don't let them see you cry. Ignore the hurtful things they say as much as possible. When that doesn't work, don't sink to their level, but call them on it. Make it clear that you won't be treated that way. Above all, don't let them ruin the things you love. You enjoy reading and learning; be proud of it, don't hide it. Don't change who you are hoping that that will make other people like you. The ones that are important may not like the same things you do, or understand them, but they will still accept you. Don't care about the opinions of people that you can't respect. Can you do all of that? You'll have to be strong and brave, and it won't be easy." Hermione bit her lip nervously for a moment, before a fierce look of determination filled her eyes. Ron felt the roar of the Gryffindor spirit surging into wakefullness within her, her inner strength coming forth. Along with her emotions, he was filled with an overwhelming burst of pride for her. This was the birth of the Hermione he knew; the girl who stood up for herself and others, someone who was strong, but hadn't lost their ability to care. Jackie must have seen it too, for she grinned, the expression lighting her face as she pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

The scene melted away, and once more he was at school, this time on the playground. This time, there were subtle differences. Hermione, who was usually alone, was crouched on her heels next to a boy with messy brown hair. He was a transfer student, and he didn't talk much. Large, splotchy freckles covered his face and arms, which had earned him the nickname 'Spot.' His real name was Tommy Perkins, but only the teachers and Hermione called him that.

As she squinted her eyes at the warm spring sunlight, Ron noticed that a year or two had passed. Her hair was longer, and her cheeks were no longer as plump. Her eyes weren't as open as they used to be. There was a new reserve, as if her guard was permanently up. Still, she had that same urge to mother and protect, so it had been almost inevitable that she had tried to befriend this boy. They had spent lunch and recess together for nearly two months, and while he wasn't very talkative, it was nice that she didn't have to be alone all the time. In fact, she was very happy to finally have a friend. She was planning on asking her parents if he could come over some Saturday, and just thinking about it made her excited.

Ron groaned as he saw a group of children coming up behind her. These were her chief tormentors, led by Samantha. Her lips had developed a permanent Malfoy-like sneer which he had the urge to smack off. A malicious light gleamed in her eyes as she neared her two targets, but her plans were thwarted when Hermione saw the shadows fall across the ground in front of her and she twisted to the side, narrowly missing the kick that had been aimed at her backside.

"If it isn't Stranger Granger. Tell me Stranger, is Spot here your pet or your boyfriend? Although knowing you, it's probably both."

"Did you want something, or are you just moving your mouth to hear yourself talk? If you're done, please go away. It's warm enough without all the hot air you're blowing." Hermione spat.

She had stood up, her arms crossed and her hip cocked forward aggressively. Tommy had made it to his feet too, standing slightly behind her with his face directed at the ground, a sullen, resigned look in his eyes.

Samantha's eyes narrowed. The others in her group waited to see what she would do, knowing she hated it when people stood up to her. Getting an idea, she smiled slyly.

"Do you enjoy being Stranger's dog, Spots? Do you want her to be your giiiiiiirlfriend? Or would you rather join us?"

Ron swallowed a curse. He knew even before it happened how this was going to play out. He could tell by the way the boy's eyes darted back and forth between Hermione and the others. The longing for friends and acceptance was written all over him, and the moment he made his decision, his face twisted into something ugly.

"Tommy?" Hermione's voice was hesitant, as if she knew what was happening but didn't want to believe it. Her body was stiff, braced for a blow that was going to be emotional instead of physical.

The boy stepped away from her in the direction of the others, a small flash of regret the only indication of the shame he felt. "Who wants to be stuck with a know-it-all beaver girl?

Hermione drew in a sharp breath as he walked off with the laughing group, Samantha tossing her a smug smile over her shoulder as she went. The stabbing sense of betrayal was sharp and hot in her chest. She held her head high, though, her chin up, spinning on her heel to walk over to lean against a tree at the edge of the schoolyard. Her eyes stung, but she wouldn't cry until she was in bed that night. She wouldn't give that troll Samantha the satisfaction of her tears. Gloomily, she stared out at all the other children, clusters of large groups playing together while others were paired off in twos and threes.

She had already lost her first friend. Well, she supposed he hadn't really been her friend. It still hurt, though. She had been the one to be nice to him when everyone else shut him out, and she knew that the others would go back to treating him the same way now that they had gotten what they wanted. Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked to see a bird flutter from the ground to a branch. It brought to mind the animated films she sometimes watched where animals of the forest would come and and comfort the lonely heroine. (Ron knew what these were not only from Hermione's memories, but because over the last several years, he had gotten a better grasp on Muggle things, and they went to the cinema on date night quite often. He had found films in general amazing, but animation absolutely blew him away.)

The idea had always appealed to Hermione, and she wished something like that would happen to her now. Lost in her own thoughts, she didn't notice as the branches began to fill with birds of various size and color. Ron watched with wide eyes as more birds arrived, landing on the surrounding trees and playground equipment. Hermione's gaze settled on Tommy, and her temper flared. Her grief turned to anger, rage bubbling just below the surface as she bit her lower lip hard enough to release a thin trickle of blood. She hated Tommy, and wanted to make him sorry.

All at once, the sky became black with feathers as the birds rose and flew around wildly, and Ron gaped as a large crow swooped down and pecked Tommy on the top of the head. Children were screaming and running in fear, the two teachers on duty calling for them to get inside immediately. Several more crows joined the first, and Tommy was crying, terrified.

He wasn't the only one. Hermione watched in horror as the birds attacked, her hands coming up to cover her face. "STOOOOOOOOOP!" She screamed shrilly, sick at what was happening. As if they understood, the birds ceased their assault and began to fly away, leaving Hermione to tremble in fear and confusion. It was almost like the birds had come to do what she wanted, but that was impossible. Things like that didn't happen in real life. Besides, she may have hated him for a moment, but she didn't honestly want anything bad to happen to Tommy.

Next to her, Ron shuddered. It wasn't unusual for children to lose control over their powers, but it was rarely quite as violent as that. He felt it as she cringed guiltily, even though she had no idea why. Quietly, she followed the others into the school, her mind racing to find a logical explaination. Unable to resist, Ron reached out to pat her head in a comforting manner. While he was able to lean on walls or sit on chairs, touching people in memories was less substantial, feeling as if his hand was passing through semi-solid smoke.

The canaries in sixth year had been bad enough; he felt very fortunate that he hadn't had to deal with bloody great crows! The doorway lead into the front hall of Hermione's house, and he shook off the disorientation that accompanied these shifts in locations.

Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears, her lips pursed up in the way they always became when she was upset. She felt as if she had been lied to, that her parents were being unfair. They were standing by the door, dressed up for what looked to be an evening out. Richard was wearing a nicely cut black suit and pearl gray shirt with a pewter tie, while Helen was wearing a long, strapless cobalt gown with a cropped sliver jacket. Ron caught the sents of cologne and perfume hanging lightly in the air, a distinct smell that Hermione associated with being left behind.

"But Mum," the eight year old begged, "you promised that tonight we could go to the cinema, and then we would come home and play a board game!"

Helen sighed for what was probably not the first time that night. From what Ron could make out, this argument had been going on for a while now.

"I told you, Hermione. Your father and I had forgotten we had to go out tonight. We can try again next week, but only if you stop making a fuss."

Hermione's heart sank. Her parents were so busy all the time. If they weren't at work, they were attending various charity events, or else they were helping great-aunt Flora. To Hermione, it seemed as if the only time they spent with her was when she had done extremely well in class, which was one of the main reasons she pushed herself so hard. She was afraid they might not notice her at all if she didn't get top marks. She knew that they loved her, but she wished they would make more of an effort to be with her. Not that she could tell them. Just thinking it made her feel ashamed and embarrassed.

Ron became uneasy. He knew her parents hadn't meant to send the message that the only way to earn their love was through schoolwork, but it was more than clear to him that that was what had happened. Though they had only discussed the possibility of children and things such as how many they would prefer, Ron decided that they should probably go more in depth into the subject. He never wanted to make his children feel that they had to compete for his affections the way Hermione was right now.

"Of course, that's if she still wants to go through with even marrying me after all this. She may see enough to put her off me for keeps." He muttered.

"But you promised." Hermione repeated accusingly, knowing how much importance her parents placed on honesty and keeping your word. "Is whatever you're doing more important than being with me? You're grown-ups. You don't have to go if you don't want to." She figured tossing in a bit of guilt couldn't hurt.

Richard stepped forward to kneel in front of her, his hands resting on her shoulders so he could look her in the eye. He was serious, but kind.

"Hermione, I know we promised, but we had already made a commitment for tonight. We are sorry about that, but it isn't something we chose to do to you because we don't care about you. What we're doing tonight is going to make it possible to help a lot of people; if we don't go, they might not be able to get it. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Hermione shook her head. The need to help others was something she had inherited from her parents and understood.

"Sometimes," Richard continued, "you have to do what's right, even when you don't want to, even when it means that you can't be with the people you love the most. That's a hard lesson to learn, but I hope that someday you're able to understand. At some point in your life you'll have to choose between what you want and what is right. Can you understand?"

The tears had leaked from her eyelids as she studied her father's face. She could tell that he wasn't lying. He wanted to stay with her, but he couldn't. If he could have said no, he would have, but since he couldn't, she needed to show that she was alright so he didn't feel bad. Someday, she would make them proud. She decided that she would always choose to do the right thing, even if she had to pick it over the person she loved, no matter how much it hurt. Deep down, she hoped she would never have to choose, but she was realistic enough to know that that wasn't likely. She just hoped that whoever it was that was in her place right now didn't end up hating her for it, and would be able to see that she didn't really have a choice.

Ron had to close his eyes. He knew he would be the one to force that choice on her, and that he would fail her horribly when she made the right one.

"I understand." She answered.

Richard smiled. "Good girl. Now, if you behave for Jackie, I'll see if I can't talk your mum into stopping for some ice cream when we go out."

Smiling, Hermione accepted the peace offering, hugging her parents goodbye. She smiled until the door shut, before letting herself cry again. Of all the things that she hated, being left behind was the thing she hated most.

Ron thought guiltily of all the times he had walked away from her in anger over the years, each time most likely making her feel the way she did now. There had always been a part of him that knew that it upset her, but he had never understood just how deep it went. Her parents had had a reason; he, on the other hand, was just the world's biggest prat.

Following her absent-mindedly, he looked up to find that he had missed another shift in time. They were in the dining room, which was covered in multi-colored streamers hanging from the ceiling. The Hermione that sat at the table made a pang shoot through his heart; she looked almost exactly as she did the first day they had met, a day that was surely coming up soon. Paying more attention to her thoughts, he learned that today was her eleventh birthday. The streamers were up for the party that would be held this evening, which Hermione looked forward to half-heartedly. She would have prefered if it had just been her parents and Jackie, but her mum had insisted that she invite Heather. She was a small blond girl that lived down the street, but they hadn't met until about three years ago when Hermione's parents had gotten the bright idea to put her in dance class. Their reasoning that it would be a good form of exercise, would help develop coordination, and would be a nice place to socialize with children her age outside of school hadn't thrilled her. Rather than going through pointless repetitive motions, she could have been doing something productive. Like reading. Or studying. Or washing the dog. Never mind that they didn't have a dog; the point was, if they did, she would prefer grooming it over shuffling around awkwardly with some sweaty handed boy.

Choking back a laugh, Ron made a mental note to tease her mercilessly for this later. While in no danger of becoming a professional, he had wondered how someone who was always buried in a book could have learned to dance as well as she did.

Back to Hermione, he tried to figure out her feelings for this Heather girl. Apparently she was nice enough, and wasn't one of the ones who gave her a hard time at school. In fact, she went to a private school, so she had no idea what Hermione went through. Hermione didn't dislike her, but her bright, puppy-like attitude was hard for her to deal with in anything but small doses.

A sound from the front door signaled that the post had arrived, and Hermione, already finished with her breakfast, went to get it. Scooping up the pile of envelopes, she walked back to the table slowly, scanning them for any sign of a birthday card. Her name jumped out at her from one, but it looked rather official and didn't have handwriting that she recognized. Puzzled, she opened it, her confusion growing as she read. This didn't make any sense. Surely, it had to be some kind of joke, but she couldn't think of anyone she knew that would do this. This wasn't the type of thing anyone from school would do, and none of her parents friends would bother. Her only other relative besides her mum and dad was great-aunt Flora, but she dismissed that instantly, along with the possibility of it being from her parents.

Ron became excited; he would recognize that envelope anywhere. He had always wondered what it had been like when Hermione got her Hogwarts letter, and now he would get to see for himself.

"What's wrong, Hermione? Did someone send you a letter?" Her mother asked as she looked up from the paper. Her father, returning from clearing the table, read over Hermione's shoulder.

"Strange. Do you know anything about this Hermione?"

She shook her head and passed it to her mother. "I have no idea. Someone must have made a mistake."

Helen opened her mouth to agree, but a knock at the front door interrupted her. Shrugging, Richard went to answer it, with Hermione right behind him. He opened the door to be confronted with a tall, thin, middle-aged woman with dark hair, wearing a strangely pointed hat and a dark green cloak.

Ron felt his jaw drop. What the bloody hell was McGonagall doing here?

"Yes, can I help you?" Richard asked politely.

"Good morning. I am Minerva McGonagall. I assume the letter has already arrived. May I come in?" She spoke in the familiar clipped brogue that had Ron standing instinctively straighter.

As if she had been granted permission, she swept through the doorway, leaving Richard no choice but to lead her to the living room.

"Dear, who was it at the-" Helen began, coming into the room. Seeing their unexpected guest, she stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you." She looked to her husband, who only shrugged.

"She said she was here about the letter." Hermione piped up, never one to stay silent when she had the answer.

McGonagall gave her a small smile. "You must be Hermione. Yes, I'm here about the letter, and to answer the questions I'm sure you have. It's standard procedure when the letter is sent to a Muggle-born."

Hermione frowned at the unfamiliar word. "Muggle?"

"Yes. That's how we refer to non-magical people in the wizarding world."

"Pardon?" Helen spoke up, and it was plain that she thought she was speaking with a madwoman.

McGonagall seemed to realize this too, for she spoke tetchily. "This is bothersome. I suppose the quickest thing would be to do this."

No sooner had she spoke than she had stood, her body morphing into that of a cat. Helen let out a strangled shriek and clutched Richard's arm, who looked about ready to faint. Hermione, on the other hand, looked impressed but unafraid.

"How did you do that? Scientists haven't discovered a way to change one thing into another." She said suspiciously, looking for a trick.

Transforming back and resuming her seat, McGonagall answered, "That was magic. As a witch, that would be something you would eventually learn how to do, assuming you accept the invitation to Hogwarts."

"My daughter is certainly no which!" Helen spoke sharply.

She received a raised eyebrow. "Are you saying that there have been no strange events in your daughter's life? Nothing that has happened when she's afraid or upset that cannot be explained?"

Ron had expected more of a fight, but a look passed between the Grangers, and they sat down on the couch.

"I think maybe you should tell us exactly why it is that you're here." Said Richard quietly.

"As the letter stated, Hermione has been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a boarding school for young witches and wizards, where they will learn all they need to know about magic and how to control it. Of course, you still have the option to refuse."

"Is it possible to hurt people? With my magic, I mean." Hermione spoke up.

Startled, McGonagall answered stiffly, "while that is certainly possible, it is not something that is encouraged, or even tolerated at Hogwarts."

Hermione shook her head. "No! I meant is it possible to hurt someone accidentally, if I don't go to this school and learn how to control the magic."

This explanation relaxed the professor, though Ron could see the worry in Hermione's eyes. She was thinking of the bird incident, and was terribly afraid of something like that happening again.

"I see. Yes, something like that could very well happen."

"Will that be all I learn? Are there magical type jobs afterwards, or do I just go back to normal? Do I get to see my family, or would I have to go away forever?"

McGonagall blinked at the rapidfire questioning, while her parents tried to come to grips with what was happening. They had told Ron that they had always known that there was something different and special about Hermione, and though it surprised even them, they had been able to believe the nature of their daughter quite quickly.

"There are many subjects that you would learn. Herbology, Potions, History of Magic, and Transfiguration to name just a few. These courses would enable you to seek employment in the magical world, which opportunities are as many and varied as they are here. There are seven years of schooling to go through, but you would of course return home for Christmas and summer holidays."

Hermione had become unmistakably eager as the subjects were listed, and her parents realized that it would be nearly impossible to open up a new world of knowledge to Hermione, and then deny her entry. True, they still had reservations, but from what the letter said, they had a year to come to terms with it.

"Well, Hermione? It sounds like you'll be going to a very interesting school." Richard said gently.

"Actually, I'd prefer a bit more time to think about it. This is my education, after all, and it's going to affect my future." Hermione would love nothing more than to say yes, but her responsible nature refused to let her jump into something without thinking about it first.

McGonagall looked at her assessingly. Ron knew she was thinking that most kids would leap at the chance without a thought, and the fact that Hermione hadn't done so interested her.

"If you would like, I could send you several books concerning the history and practices of our world, so that you could better make an informed opinion."

"Books?" Hermione breathed. "Yes, please! That would be wonderful!"

Her rapture seemed to clinch something for McGonagall. She stood and shook the hands of the Grangers, who still seemed a bit lost, promising that the books would be delivered soon.

Once more, things sped up around him, and Ron watched as Hermione began trading letters with McGonagall, her excitement growing as she received answers to her many questions from the teacher and from the books she devoured. It shouldn't have surprised him when he discovered her main concern about Hogwarts would be the effect it would have on her family. She was young, but she was a planner and she was realistic. Someday her parents would be old, and would need her support. Swanning off into a world of magic sounded nice, but if it meant she couldn't see her family, or couldn't get a good job if she needed to help them later financially, she wouldn't be going. Ron goggled at this. Not many eleven year olds thought that far ahead. But, he reminded himself, this was Hermione, and if he asked her now he would probably find out that she had not only planned out their next holiday but had named their future children as well.

But her reasons for going to Hogwarts saddened him as well. Her sense of not fitting in played a large part of it, and she hoped that she could find her place in the magical world. She wanted to belong somewhere. She wanted to have friends. This was a chance to start over and do everything right, and once her concerns were laid to rest, she had no intention of passing it up. She would learn everything she could beforehand so she wouldn't mess up, and she wouldn't make the same mistakes she had at school here. Surely, if she tried hard enough, someone would like her, right? She smiled to herself as she turned a page of Hogwarts: A History. She would. Not only would she throw herself into her classes and prove that she belonged there, but she would make more of an effort to be outgoing. She wouldn't change who she was, and she wouldn't let herself be seen as vulnerable just in case things turned out badly. But if she was helpful and interesting enough, maybe she could leave the days of insults and isolation behind. With a new purpose, she began scanning the pages for interesting bit of trivia so she would have something to talk about...

Ron slapped a hand over his face. What he had thought had been the ramblings of a snooty know it all had in fact been the awkward attempts of a girl trying to protect her feelings and make friends at the same time. "Blimey, Hermione! That's not exactly conversation material for a normal first year. Especially not freckly ginger gits whose main concerns are chocolate frogs and second hand rats!" He moaned. As if he had triggered the memory, his ears were filled with the unmistakable sound of a train station, the smell of smoke drifting past.

He knew, without looking, where he was. He was about to meet one Ronald Bilius Weasley, age eleven.

"Bloody buggering hell."


	3. Chapter 3

Though Hermione had not known what to expect, she was unsurprised when she took in her surroundings to find she was at the Burrow. In the small, cramped guest room that was mainly used for storage, to be specific. Like the rest of the home it was filled with clutter, but like every room under Mrs. Weasley's care, it remained dust free. Hearing a small whimper, she let the sound and the feeling of impending doom lead her to look under the aside a box, she came face to face with a three year old Ron, wide eyed and terrified as he lay curled on his side and gripping a teddy bear to his chest. He was hiding from Fred and George, something that had already become routine even at this young age. It was only Fred that should be angry, but when you got one twin, you got them both. That was great when they were on your side; absolute misery when both were against you.

They were usually against him.

He hadn't meant for this to happen! If Fred had just shared his toy broom, nothing would have gone wrong! But he wouldn't let Ron even touch it, no matter how hard he begged, so he had waited until the twins had gone outside, and then snuck into their room, which was bad enough in itself. The prospect of just a short fly around the room had been enough to blind him to any trouble he might get into (Hermione rolled her eyes. Typical Ron.), and he had snatched at the opportunity. Sadly, steering wasn't as easy as his brothers made it look, and he had accidentally flown out of the room and to the stairs, where he had promptly fallen off. The scrapes on his knees were forgotten as soon as he saw the broom. Like a twig, it had snapped in two, and Ron knew it couldn't be fixed. So he did the only thing he could; hide until his brothers came to kill him.

Hermione had an almost uncontrollable urge to pull the boy out, scold him, kiss him, and send him to bed with a mug of hot chocolate. This was confusing, since she knew her normal reaction would be to smack his arm and call him a prat. But there was just something about the remorseful resignation and the trembling, pouting lips that brought out the maternal side of her. These thoughts were banished as the door banged open, and two small hurricanes of devilishness whirled into the room.

She shared a gasp with Ron, but for entirely different reasons. Where Ron was afraid of being discovered, she was dealing with the blow of coming face to face with Fred. She had forgotten that since these were Ron's memories, she would be seeing him. It was hard to look at the mischevious five year old, knowing what was going to happen to him. Seeing his smiling face caused a bittersweet ache.

Ron's fear increased as the twins stomped around the room, his heart about to spring from his chest. He clutched his bear tighter. Hermione narrowed her eyes as the twins shared some sort of silent message, nodding first to the bed, and then to the door. As they tore out of the room, she felt the relief that spread through Ron's body as he slid out from under the bed. If he stayed in the room until dinner, he should be alright. Pleased that he had eluded the twins, he grinned, not feeling the toy in his arms begin to stir. Hermione wanted to call out, but she knew it would be useless. Instead, she was only able to watch as the teddy bear transformed into a giant, hairy legged spider with huge eyes and pincers.

Ron looked down to see what was wiggling in his arms, and let out a dreadful shriek. Only the faint light from the window illuminated the room, making the spider appear even more sinister. Ron tried to throw it away from him, but the legs had gotten caught on his sweater, and it clung to him, no matter how hard he tried to bat it away.

Once again, the door opened to reveal the twins, howling with laughter at their brother's punishment. But the laughter quickly faded once they saw that Ron wasn't just scared; he was completely terrified, and his screams hadn't let up since they had started. George held him still while Fred peeled off the spider, both of them shooting anxious looks at the door, no doubt fearing the arrival of their mother. They were wise to do so, because it didn't take her long to come see what all the noise was about.

She took one look in the room, and with hands on her hips, tore into them in classic Molloy Weasley fashion. "FRED! GEORGE! WHAT HAVE YOU TWO DONE TO YOUR BROTHER?"

"But Mum, he broke my broom! We were only-"

"Teaching him not to mess with other people's stuff!"

As their mother continued to berate them, Hermione watched as Ron trembled and shook, his face as pale as a glass of milk. Quiet, muffled whimpers escaped his throat, his hands opening and closing, searching for the comfort of a teddy bear he knew he would never hold again. Hermione couldn't move from the shared panic that was flowing into her. Ron had always been so matter of fact about his fear of spiders that she hadn't realized it had been this big of a deal. She felt bad for ever having laughed about it, and now found him even more amazing for what he had gone through in second year than she had before. The pressure in her chest eased as the world faded around her, transferring her into a new memory.

She hadn't gone very far; they were still at the Burrow, but now they were up in Ron's room, where he was sprawled across his bed on his back, slowly kicking the walls with his heels. Even without the shared emotions Hermione would still be able to tell what kind of mood he was in. His red eyebrows were lowered in a scowl, and he was biting the inside of his cheek. He was probably one of the most angry looking five year olds that Hermione had ever come across.

Ron felt as if he had good reason to be angry. His day had been lousy so far. First, he had hardly gotten any sleep the night before thanks to the ghoul rattling around extra loud overhead. Just as he had fallen into a deep sleep, his mum had yelled up the stairs at him, angry that he was late for breakfast. He had tossed his clothes on and gotten down there as quick as he could, but his older brothers had already gone through the food like a swarm of ginger locusts. All that was left for him were two small, shriveled sausage links, a piece of toast with the last of the jam barely covering half, and a few spoonfuls of cold, rubbery eggs. He had asked for more, but his mum told him that maybe that would teach him the importance of getting up on time. As if that was something he needed to learn! If he wanted anything decent at meals, he had to sprint as fast as he could from his room at the top of the house, skipping as many stairs as possible in order to beat his brothers and Ginny.

Then he had been roped into helping clean the house, since his Aunt Muriel and her sister Eunice were coming over that afternoon. His mum must have thought she had given birth to a bloody house elf, because no sooner had he gotten done with one thing, but she had six other chores to replace it. Bill and Charlie were away at school, and Percy and the twins were smart enough that they had volunteered to work outside where it would be easier to skive off. (Not that Percy wouldn't do what he had been told. He would just conveniently not come back inside for more instructions. The sly prat.)

But what really irritated Ron was the fact that Ginny didn't have to help at all. He could hear her in her room upstairs, dressing up their poor, put-upon cat. Oh well. Better the cat than him. Lunch had been a let down, too. Hungry from his too small breakfast and all that work, he had dashed into the kitchen at his mum's call, only to be met with a plate of corned beef sandwiches, the one food he could absolutely not stand.

Afterwards, finally free, he had tried to join his brothers when they took the brooms out for a fly, but none of them would double with him, and he wasn't allowed to fly one by himself. He watched them fly off over the pond to their makeshift Quidditch pitch, their laughter echoing back as if to taunt him. Dragging himself up to his room, he had discovered that several of his new chocolate frog cards had been nibbled to bits by Percy's stupid rat. With a muttered curse, he threw the remaining pieces away, swearing that one day he would kill that bloody rodent.

So now here he was, trapped in his room, listening to the acidic voice of Aunt Muriel as it floated up from the living room. Scowling, he hoped she wouldn't say anything to upset his mum this time. The old bat. His mum might be a bit of a nag, but she was still a good mum, and he wasn't going to let any dried up hag say otherwise.

Hermione smiled. That was Ron. The people he loved might irritate him to no end, but he was always protective of them. She followed him as he slipped out of the room, careful not to cause the stairs to squeak as he snuck down to eavesdrop. The clattering of dishes told him that Mum was in the kitchen getting tea ready for the guests, so with one eye on the door, he hid himself behind the coatrack, which was close enough to the living room that he could hear the conversation.

"I tell you Eunice, I simply cannot understand why Molly wasted herself on Authur Weasley. She could have married that Pendergast boy, old Edward's son, remember him? He was going places, and she would have been set for life! But no, she insisted on marrying a man who barely had two Knuts to rub together, and now she's slaving away in this hovel with seven children."

"Now Muriel, Arthur is a sweet man, and the children are-" Eunice's soft voice cut in reasonably.

Hermione tried to recall her, but then vaguely remembered that she had died before Bill's wedding, leaving them with only the charming Muriel. She checked Ron's ears. As suspected, they were red in anger at the slur against his father.

"Oh, the children are well enough, I suppose, considering where they came from. The two oldest are at Hogwarts already. Bill seems steady and reliable, and Charlie is cheerful and athletic. Reminds me of Father, he does. Percy is quite bright. He'll probably end up in the Ministry, though I hope he shows more ambition than his father. The twins take everyone in with their charm, but if you ask me, they'll come to no good end. And Ginerva, well, Molly finally got the daughter she always wanted. Took her enough tries. We'll see in a few years if she turns out pretty enough to make a decent marriage."

Wondering why he had been skipped over, he perked up when Eunice voiced his question.

"What about the other boy? Ron?"

Muriel snorted. "Not much to say about that one. You can already tell he isn't going to be as good looking as his brothers, or as smart, either. No, I'm afraid that one was just Molly's failed attempt for a daughter. He was supposed to have been a girl, you know. I'm sure disappointed when he turned out to be another boy."

Not wanting to hear more, the boy trudged back up to his room, his pale ankles flashing under his too short jeans as Hermione followed him. She was torn between wanting to go back and hex his foul aunt, and wanting to hold him and tell him her words hadn't been true. But the seeds had already been planted; the sharp, spade-like words had already dug deep into his young, fertile mind. Self-doubt began to grow and blossom, each remembered look of disappointment from his mum and teasing from his siblings twisting into something that they had never intended.

Hermione wanted to cry. He had already placed his brothers on a pedestal in his mind. Bill and Charlie could do no wrong in his eyes. Percy, even though he was snooty, was still brilliant, and the twins were loads of fun. Ginny was harder to relate to, but he had always secretly thought it was neat that he had a little sister to look up to him. Now he doubted that she did. Why look up to the ugly stupid brother when you had five others? He gave a growl, punching his pillow. Someday he was going to prove them all wrong. He would make something of himself, even though right now he had no clue as to what that could possibly be. They would be just as proud of him as he was of them.

Hermione cried as well, even as things shifted around her. She had always wondered where he had gotten the idea that he was somehow less than his siblings, because she knew that his parents had never treated him that way. But now she understood that this had put it in his head, and that he just thought his family was too nice to say anything about it, which only served as more proof of how much better they were. It certainly explained a lot of his later behaviour. Impatient to see more, she blinked away the tears, stepping into the next memory.

It smelled like Christmas. Meat pies. Pudding. Turkey. Molly Weasley put on a feast every year, and anyone who was ever fortunate enough to attend one never forgot it. The meal was over, and Ron, stuffed more than the turkey in his much hated maroon jumper, was in front of the fire, watching Bill and Charlie playing a game of Wizard's Chess as Mum's radio wailed in the background. The twins were in the corner of the room, whispering plans for a snowball fight, while Percy sat a few feet away in an armchair, reading a new book. Ginny sat between her parents on the sofa, half asleep.

The fire crackled, it's light casting strange shadows over the chess board. Ron watched avidly; he had always loved watching his brothers play, and was trying to stay quiet enough so he wouldn't be sent away. He had memorized the movements of each piece, and was now trying to figure out what the best move would be before his brother took his turn. He was getting better about figuring out the right one, but he knew Bill would beat him easily. With Charlie, he might be able to hold him off for a while, because he got easily distracted from games that didn't require you to move.

"Hey Ron. Want to come over here and learn how to play?" Bill asked.

Ron hesitated to make sure he was serious. When he saw that he was, he scooted across the floor to sit between Bill's legs.

"Can I really play?" He asked, trying to hide his eagerness. Hermione laughed. It was the same look he got when he was offered the last chocolate frog.

"Sure, it's about time we showed you how to play. You don't mind, do you Charlie?"

Charlie grinned, reaching over to ruffle Ron's hair. "Nah. Maybe with Ron on your side you stand a chance of beating me."

They laughed, except for Percy, who looked over the top of his book disdainfully. "Don't you think he's a bit too young to learn? I doubt he has the attention span for it."

Ron glared at Percy. Know it all bookworm! Just because he didn't sit on his arse for hours with a book didn't mean he couldn't pay attention when he wanted to! Honestly, Percy was the kind of person he couldn't stand. He loved his brother, but sometimes he didn't like him much. He had already decided to avoid anyone who read as much as he did, for fear they would have the same attitude.

"Well then. I already had a strike against me even before we met. No wonder I always seemed to rub him the wrong way." Hermione sighed. She had to admit, she had certainly given the impression that she was going to be a female Percy. That was probably the reason Ron always looked like he was about to bolt whenever he was around her for the beginning of first year.

Bill rolled his eyes. "I'm sure Ron can handle it, Perce.. Alright, Ron, I know you've been watching. What would you do next?"

Ron studied the pieces, his features set in intense concentration. After a few minutes, he reached out, moving the knight. He looked back at Bill questioningly, his hand staying on the piece just in case.

Surprised, Bill nodded. Charlie gave a low whistle; that had been a pretty good move for someone Ron's age. They played slowly, Ron taking over Bill's place more and more, with only a few whispered corrections in his ear to help him. An hour later, he was beaming in triumph at having Charlie in check, the twins cheering loudly from the side where they had come to watch. Even Percy had looked up from his book long enough to say something encouraging, and Ginny was clapping her hands, giggling at Charlie's melodramatic wail of defeat.

Yawning sleepily as he went up to bed, Ron considered this to be the best Christmas ever, if he overlooked the horrid color his mum insisted on making his jumper. Chess was brilliant; it was the first time he had ever felt really smart, like he was actually good at something. Maybe, he thought happily, if he tried really hard, he could get even better than Bill! Yeah, that was a great plan. By the time he went to Hogwarts, he would be a wicked chess player. At least if he did that, there would be something about him that stood out.

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. It made sense now. Whenever Ron had felt as if he was doing poorly in class, the chess board would emerge. Obviously, he had used it as a confidence booster, and not just a means of procrastination, as she had previously thought. If she remembered correctly, he had always studied better after a few games. Oh, he had complained just as much, and tried to wheedle her into doing it for him, but his results were a definite improvement over his usual efforts. Not only did it relax him, but it seemed to make him feel smarter, as well. Maybe she should try to get him to take more chess breaks from studying when they got back. She would definitely have to let him know that while he was amazing at chess, it was by no means the limit of his intelligence, something she should have made clearer years ago.

It was with a jolt she realized that she was no longer at the Burrow; she had wondered if she was going to see any memories away from there before it was time for Ron to go to Hogswarts. If she thought about it though, it made sense. The Weasleys, not having much money to spare, generally stuck close to home. The thrill of the outing had Ron bouncing along his mother in high spirits, he and Ginny both begging her to stop for an ice cream while they were out. She brushed them off in a harried fashion, her eyes darting from her destination down the street and back to her children, trying to make sure they were all staying with her.

Hermione's interest was caught by Ron's older brothers. There was a strange, stiff air about them, even as the twins laughed and joked loudly. Charlie smiled weakly, but Percy's expression was downright sour. Every time something would catch Ron or Ginny's eye in a window they would wince, and hurriedly change the subject after quick glances at their mother. Hermione knew that the boys were sensitive to their financial situation, and even Fred and George tried not to do anything to make their mother feel badly. What confused her was Ron; she had always known him to look in the shops wistfully, quickly hiding any side of longing with a quick flex of a cheek muscle and an off-hand comment. But the Ron in front of her was acting like any nine year old boy, darting from one item of interest to another, obviously hoping he would be allowed to buy something.

They arrived at Gringott's, the goblin sneering at them from his tall chair. Molly stiffly asked to be shown to their vault, and Hermione followed the family of gingers as they trooped inside. The reason for the special trip floated to Hermione's mind. It was the twin's first year at Hogwarts, and they had come to Diagon Alley for school supplies. Percy would be starting third year and Charlie sixth, while Bill had been out for a year, already studying to become a curse breaker. Ron and Ginny were wide-eyed as the cart sped down the track to the correct vault, and Hermione felt the dizzyness herself as they came to a screeching halt. Charlie stayed behind with Ginny, who had enjoyed the ride, but didn't really like it down there. Ron, not willing to miss anything, followed his brothers, who curiously seemed to be blocking him every chance they got. Shrugging it off as just teasing from Fred and George and big headedness from Percy, Ron peered around them, straining to catch a glimpse of the inside of the vault.

This couldn't be right. There must be some mistake. Had they been taken to the wrong vault? Or did they have more than just the one? Ron's chest tightened as the truth forced itself upon him, as ugly, hard truths have the habit of doing. At the center of the farthest wall was a small pile of coins, hardly worth the trouble of having a vault. To be honest, there was more dust than money, the floor coated so heavily that it wiped any hope that maybe they had just come during on off time, that maybe there was more money here than most people kept in a sock under their mattress. It all made sense now. The homemade or hand-me-down clothes. The second hand toys. The way his mother always carefully scraped the Floo Powder out of the pot, letting none go to waste. His ears burned, in stark contrast to the cold air on his ankles, which were exposed as always from his jeans being perpetually an inch too short.

He felt a stinging shame as he recalled how he had behaved less than an hour ago, pestering his mum for things they most definitely couldn't afford. He felt like such a fool; why hadn't he seen it before?

Abruptly, he was yanked, quite literally, from his thought by the twins, who had pulled him by his robes until he was standing outside of the vault.

"Sorry, Ronnie. Didn't mean for you to catch on quite like that." Fred whispered, his unnatural seriousness enough for Ron to ignore the childish nickname.

"W-we're really poor, aren't we?" He asked, voice cracking.

George tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, you certainly didn't think we were rolling in gold, now did you?" He joked feebly.

"Maybe now you'll think before you go asking for things you don't need." Percy whispered harshly.

George flicked him an angry glance. "Lay off, Perce! He's only nine. It's not like he knew."

The irritation melted from Percy's face, to be replaced by a look of guilt. "Sorry, Ron. I know you didn't mean it. I just get worked up when we have to go out and spend so much. Didn't mean to take it out on you."

Ron nodded faintly, not paying much attention to the apology. In the back of his mind, he knew Percy meant it, and he appreciated that, but it wasn't anything he wasn't already beating himself up for. No, he was more concerned with the memory of complaining about his shirt this morning, and whining about the fact that his shoes didn't fit.

It was in a daze that he left Gringott's, his eyes dazzled by the sun as they left the dark, dank building. He walked heavily behind his mother as they went from shop to shop, taking in things he had never noticed before. The way cheaper material was picked out for the robes. How they went straight to the used book section of Flourish and Blotts. His stomach twisted in knots as he mentally added the prices of each item that his mother picked up. The wretched feeling must have shown in his face, for once more he was pulled aside, this time by Percy, while the twins kept their mother and sister distracted.

Percy was unusually understanding, his tone gentle when he gave Ron's shoulder a small shake. "Ron, you need to snap out of it. I know it's a bit much to take in all at once, but you need to put on a good face for Mum. You know she and Dad would get us nice things if they could, and it makes them feel bad when they think we're disappointed. You don't want to upset her, do you?"

Ron shook his head. "But how...why are we...is Dad not doing well at work?"

There was a spark of familiar impatience in Percy's eyes, but he kept it under control. "Dad's job doesn't exactly pay as well as most Ministry positions, and there are nine of us. That stretches things pretty thin."

"Can't he get a different job?"

Percy snorted. "Dad loves his job. You'd have a hard time prying him away from it. But now that you know, you can start making things easier for yourself later. Why do you think Bill studied so hard? He wanted to be able to find a good job. Even Charlie hits the books enough to make decent marks. If you're smart, you'll do the same. The rest of us have already decided we'll find a way to save up some for when Dad gets too old to work, so he and Mum will be taken care of. You can join us if you want, but you don't have to."

"Of course I'd help Mum and Dad!" Ron snapped indignantly. It couldn't be that hard to make enough money to buy clothes that fit and set aside enough to help out his parents, could it?

"Knew you would. You may be an irritating little prat, but you're a good kid." Percy said, giving him a rare grin.

Some of his tension eased. They were poor, and of course that sucked. But really, the only difference was, now he knew it. Nothing had changed. Once they got home, his mother would cook dinner like she always would, his dad would come home and work out in his shed with the weird Muggle things he was forever turning up with. Fred and George would most likely blow something up before the end of the day, and he would have to fight his siblings in the nightly battle over the bathroom. Would he be happier if he had clothes that fit, and didn't have to settle for his brothers' broken rejects instead of buying his own things new from the store? Probably. But things weren't really too bad. He still had bacon sandwiches and the occasional chocolate frog, and his chess set, even though it was an old and battered one that had belonged to his grandfather, was his own. If he could just make it through the next eight years, he could graduate from Hogwarts, get a job, and never have to worry about money again. A tall order, but he was already going to have to do at least that to prove he was as good as the rest of his brothers.

Before the gnawing of self-doubt could sink it's teeth into him too deeply, Percy spoke again.

"You'll be fine. Just remember, not a word to Ginny. She's still far too young to know."  
Ron goggled as Percy strode off. Not tell Ginny? Was he completely mental? If she found out the he had known and hadn't told her...he shuddered. Ginny had her fair share of the Weasley temper, and he had no intention of having it directed at him.

Hermione watched sadly as he joined his family. The subject of money had always been a delicate issue with Ron back at school. He rarely spoke of it, but sometimes he would let loose a heated complaint that showed the feelings he tried to bury. There had always been a hint of shame in his eyes after he had cooled down, and Hermione had wondered if it was because he was ashamed of his family. The longer she knew him, the more she came to realize that that wasn't the case, and his feelings now were further proof. Ron didn't like the fact that they were poor. Who would? But he didn't hold it against his father, as Percy seemed to. Ron took it more personally, as if it was just another thing that was wrong with him. He was tall and scrawny with far too many freckles and bright red hair. He wasn't very bright. Or strong. Or funny. It just seemed right that to top it off, he was poor, too. He would do his best not to let it bother him, but he couldn't help the flashes of jealousy and resentment that sometimes hit him.

The shop dimmed, and when Hermione was able to focus again, her surroundings had changed once more. They were back at the Burrow, but this time they were outside. Ron paced the porch with nervous energy, anxiously watching the sky. Where was that blasted owl? Surely, the school owls weren't as pathetic as Errol. Could it be lost? Maybe it had been attacked. There were any number of things that might have gone wrong, really.

Like...or possibly...

He drooped, his tongue poking out to lick chapped lips. Maybe he should just face the facts that he wouldn't be getting a letter from Hogwarts. Never mind that he had already showed that he had magical ability (making it rain inside the day their old calico cat had died, though he would die before admitting it). Never mind that every Weasley in the history of forever had been accepted into the school. What was wrong with him? How did they find out? What was Mum going to say? And if he lived through that, what would the twins have in store for him?

He moaned loudly, regretting that second (third) slice of cake. He was doomed, to way around it. Happy bloody birthday to him.

Hermione sat down next to him on the crooked steps. It was strange seeing him at this age. He was both new and familiar; at this point in the past they hadn't met yet, but she could read his mood from every tilt of the head, every quirk of the mouth.

The screen door creaked open behind them, and Mrs. Weasley came out, a concerned expression on her face as she gazed at her youngest son.

"Ron? Don't you want to come in? You should spend some time with Bill and Charlie before they have to leave."

Ron looked over his shoulder briefly, before turning back to scanning the sky. "In a few minutes, Mum. I just want to see if..."

"I'm sure it will come. Maybe there was a problem at the school, and they have to waituntil tomorrow."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Well. No, not that I know of. But there's a first time for everything. Cheer up, Ron. No one should be gloomy on their birthday."

He wouldn't be gloomy if the bloody letter would just get here, but he wisely kept that thought to himself, instead giving her a weak smile. It didn't seem to convince her, but she went back inside anyway. Ron stayed where he was, his fingers idly picking at the paint that was peeling off of the step behind him. He wasn't left alone for long. His mother had been gone less than ten minutes when Fred and George came clumping loudly out of the house to sit on either side of him, their sly expressions making Hermione's eyes narrow in suspicion. She had a hunch that they knew quite well where that letter was.

Fred slapped Ron on the back. "Well, well, well! Ickle Ronniekins is eleven! Big day, wouldn't you say, George?"

"Indeed I would, Fred! It's an important day in a young wizard's life. A marker!"

"A milestone!"

"A cause for celebration!"

"A-"

"A big fat disappointment, so you lot can just shove off, or say whatever it is you came out here to say." Ron interjected, having no desire to sit through one of their comedy routines.

"Why Ronald! Whatever has your knickers in a twist? Can't we wish our little brother happy birthday without being suspected of underhanded intentions?" George questioned, adopting a wounded look.

"No." Ron stated flatly. He knew them too well; they had been making sneaky references to his lack of a letter all day. They were just here to take the mickey out of him further.

"So why are you out here, anyway? Waiting for something specific?" Fred questioned.

No longer caring about being teased, Ron blurted, "You know I was looking for my letter. You've been giving me a hard time about it all day. It's not coming. You know it, I know it, even Mum knows it! Not that it's a big surprise. So unless you've come up with a plan to sneak me into Hogwarts, I wish you would just leave me alone."

Fred and George traded a look over Ron's head. They had been hoping to get a rise out of him, because his reactions were always hilarious to watch. They hadn't expected him to be this dejected.

George thumped him on the back. "What do you mean you're not going? Of course you are! You're a Weasley, aren't you?"

"Not much of one. If it wasn't for the red hair and freckles, I'd have to wonder." Ron muttered. "Should have seen it coming though. If there was one of us who wasn't going to get to go, it would be me."

"That's a depressing point of view. Why would you think that? 'S'not like you're a squib. You've got as much magic as the rest of us. And while we're on that subject, relax a bit. You're making it rain." Fred pointed out.

Startled, Ron looked up. Fred was right. Fat raindrops had began to sprinkle down on the porch. Once they had stopped, his brothers beamed at him, each throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"That's better!" Said Fred. "Cheer up. You're definitely going to Hogwarts. George and I will take you under our wings, to ensure that you don't become a prat!"

"A ponce!" George chimed in.

"A pillock!"

"A prick!"

"A prefect!"

They shared a sour look, and said together, "A Percy!"

"Worry not, Ronniekins! Fred and I will teach you all you need to know; everything from the right time of day to set off Dungbombs in the Common Room, to the best ways to avoid Filtch and Mrs. Norris."

Ron grinned. That was the best thing about the twins. They gave him a hard time, but they were just as quick to turn around and let him join in on the fun. He started to look forward to pulling some of the pranks they were describing, but then reality set in, and his shoulders slumped once more.

"Sounds brilliant, but you're forgetting something. I didn't get my letter, so I won't be going."

"Oh, didn't we mention that?" Began George airily. "Your letter came early this morning. It's up in our room right now."

"We bribed the owl with some treats before Mum came down to start breakfast." Fred added.

Ron leapt up with a yell, lips stretching into a wide grin. Then a thought seemed to strike him, and he scowled, fists clenched at his sides. "Wait a minute...you knew this whole time, and you just..."

Watching his ears go from pale white, to a rosy pink, and then a deep maroon in a matter of seconds had his brothers standing hastily, backing off of the porch.

"Now Ron, it was all in good fun, right?" Said Fred soothingly, holding his hands up.

"He knows that, Fred! Ron can take a joke!"

Hermione thought that was rich coming from George, who was backing away from his younger brother as if he expected him to erupt at any time.

And erupt he did. "YOU BLOODY TOSSERS!" he roared, leaping off the porch.

"Run for it Fred! He's young, but he's fast!"

"I only have to run faster than you, old boy!" Fred quipped.

With loud whoops they were off, streaking across the yard, Ron's lanky frame in hot pursuit as he hurled invectives at them.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears of laughter as she held her stomach. The scene before her was achingly familiar from their years at school. The twins loved nothing more than riling their brother up. Fred once confided to her that they used to compete to see who could make his ears turn the deepest shade of red. She had asked George if that was true a few months after Fred died, while they were reminiscing about him. George had confirmed it, adding that they had struck gold as far as subject matter went in Ron's fourth year; nothing drove him further round the bend than being teased about her.

Her eyes were still blurry when the ground began to sway under her. She looked down quickly, finding red carpet at her feet. The sounds of children's voices filled the air, and with a thrill, she realized she was on the Hogwarts Express.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of bushy brown hair. Ron had just passed the compartment she had been sitting in with Neville, and she groaned. She had always known that Ron's first impression of her hadn't been exactly...favorable. She had never thought she would get to experience it for herself. Wryly, she smiled. Ron was only minutes away from meeting his 'nightmare,' otherwise known as Hermione Jean Granger.

As Ron would no doubt say; Bloody hell.


	4. Chapter 4

**Again, I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed so far. The feedback has really meant a lot to me. This is turning out to be quite a fun story to write, and I hope you all stick with me to the end. If anyone would send me recommendations for my romione playlist, it would be much appreciated!**

The familiar sights and sounds of his own first ride on the Hogwarts Express washed over Ron, along with Hermione's jelly-kneed nervous excitement. She had stowed her trunk in the first available compartment that she came to before dashing to the loo to change into her new uniform and robes. Her wand shook in her trembling fingers, but she had managed one or two of the minor spells she had read about, and that had boosted her confidence. She licked her lips, preparing to leave the loo. Giving herself a shake, she put herself together. She could do this. She was going to make a place in this world. She would make friends, succeed, and finally, finally belong. So shoulders back! Head high! Stiff upper lip! Well. Maybe not too stiff. No sense tempting fate by drawing too much attention to her teeth. Yes. That was better. Now, walk out there with confidence, and don't, under any circumstances, let them see how nervous you are!

Ron smiled wryly as he followed her back to her compartment. If he could, he would have told her to relax. She obviously had no idea how imposing she looked.

As she slid open the door, his smile spread into a grin at the plump arse that was waving around in the air, a muffled voice begging something to come out from under the seat. That could only be one person, and the next few moments confirmed it.

Stepping inside and sliding the door closed, Hermione cleared her voice. "Ehem. Have you...lost something?"

The boy jerked up, hitting his head on the underside of the seat. He gave a whimper, sitting back to stare up at her with eyes brimming with tears.

"It's Trevor, my toad. We aren't even halfway there yet, and I've already lost him! Gran's going to kill me!"

Hermione pointed behind him. "Is that your toad, there?"

The boy whirled around, grasping at the warty creature before it had the chance to hop away. "I thought I had lost you for good!" He smiled up at Hermione, awkwardly staggering to his feet. "Thanks. My name's Neville Longbottom. Is this your first year at Hogwarts too?"

Hermione returned his smile, taking a seat opposite him. "It is. My name is Hermione Granger, by the way. Do you come from a wizarding family? I don't. We were all quite surprised when I got my letter."

Neville looked a bit sheepish. "Well, everyone else in my family are magical. I expect I'll be a bit of a disappointment, though. I'm quite clumsy, and my memory is rubbish. I don't see how I'm going to get through all seven years."

"I'm sure you'll do fine, as long as you give it your best. I'm good at studying; if you ever need help, just ask."

This made Neville brighten, the gloom lifting from his round face. "Really, you'd do that? That would be swell of you!"

They beamed at each other; Hermione felt light as a feather as they continued to talk, almost floating out of her seat in triumph. She was making a friend! It hadn't been hard at all, and she had been right all along. All you had to do was show a little kindness. Perhaps this year would be even better than she thought.

When Neville decided to go change into his robes, she waved at him cheerfully, turning to the window to watch the scenery rush by. It felt as if no time at all had passed when he returned, panic written all over him.

"Trevor's gone!" He wailed.

"Oh Neville, not again!" Hermione exclaimed. She could already tell that this was going to become as common as toast.

Unable to resist his silent plea, she stood, briskly walking out to join him. "Come along. We'll just check all the compartments. Let's start in this direction."

Briskly, Hermione made her way down the aisle, taking one side while Neville took the other. She asked everywhere if anyone had seen a toad, but had no luck. Which wasn't really surprising, since most everyone was too busy with their own concerns to notice a toad hopping about on the floor. She came across a boy with dreadlocks holding a box that kept shifting by itself, and, judging by the gleeful smirks he shared with the red headed twins on either side of him, decided she would be best served to avoid them.

When they had reached the end with still no sign of Trevor, Hermione started back the way they had come, Neville trailing behind her in dismal spirits. Ron held his breath; this was it. Her hand was on the door to the compartment he had shared with Harry. Within seconds, her bossy little voice sounded out, asking them if they had seen a toad. He watched, from her point of view, while Harry gave a tentative smile, and his younger self gave her a look like she had just made a rude noise. He had almost immediately dismissed her in favor of trying out a stupid spell on his bloody rat. Ron glared at himself. The damn animal caused more trouble than what it was worth. Looking at the rat currently known as Scabbers, he felt sick to his stomach, knowing how that would turn out.

Hermione had stiffened when she got a good look at him. She knew it was foolish, but she couldn't help her instant distrust of boys with freckles. It was something she needed to get over, so she steeled herself, forcing herself to be polite as she questioned him about the magic he was using. She watched dubiously. It certainly didn't sound like any of the spells she had studied in her book. When she mentioned this, he grew hostile, as if his failure was somehow her fault. The other boy, Harry Potter, seemed more her sort. Quiet and studious looking. They would probably get along. It would be harder with Ron Weasley; it would require effort, but she was determined to push past her silly prejudice.

Ron snorted. Trust Hermione to turn something as simple as making friends into some kind of personal challenge. When he was eleven, he had just assumed she had taken it upon herself to show him up. Discovering she had set out, in her own, specially mental way, to make friends with him was a bit disconcerting. She had gone about it all wrong, but watching his own face twist from stunned confusion at her rapid-fire comments into acute dislike, he had to admit he hadn't made it easy for her.

Harry at least looked halfway polite; he, on the other hand, looked as if he had bitten into a spinach flavored Bertie Bott's Bean. Hermione seemed to realize she was talking too much. She couldn't help it, though. Whenever she was uncomfortable, random facts always managed to pour from her mouth. Abruptly, she reined herself in, using the excuse that they should change soon as an excuse to leave hastily. Her cheeks burned as she marched back to her seat. Why, oh why had she drawn attention to the dirt on his nose? She had only meant to be helpful, but she could tell as soon as he said it that he had taken it as some sort of insult. If she had been thinking, she would have left much sooner, until she could think of a better way of going about this. She shrugged. Oh well. She would just have to try harder. Unless...unless they were put into different houses. Then it was entirely possible that they wouldn't see very much of each other. That might be for the best. He certainly didn't seem to like her much. Maybe it was because his spell hadn't worked? She nodded. If they were in the same house, she would make a point of helping him with magic. After all, being helpful had worked with Neville, hadn't it? Pleased, she settled into her seat, pulling a book out of her bag to pass the time.

Ron was stunned. Merlin's saggy balls! He had been her first spew-type project! Instead of trying to make him look bad, she had been trying to help him. Of course, he had fought her at every turn, which she found extremely frustrating. He had completely misread her. Sure, there had been a part of her that was showing off, but that was only because she wanted to fit in. He could understand that. If he had known, he wouldn't have given her such a hard time. Well. Maybe. He had always been short-tempered, and she had managed to push his buttons from the very beginning.

With a jerk, he was transported from the train to a classroom. Kids were streaming out the door, babbling about the lesson. Ron tried to place the memory as Hermione scooped up her books. There was Flitwick at the front of the room, and on each desk was a...feather. He groaned, knowing exactly where he was.

"You have to make the 'gar' nice and long." He drawled.

Her brows were lowered in a heavy scowl as she impatiently shouldered her bag, brushing her wild hair out of her face. The pleasure she felt for succeeding in class was dampenedy by a certain ginger, who had already left with a group of other boys. What was his problem? She had done her best to help him before he embarrassed himself by doing something like blowing himself up, as Seamus seemed to do every time he tried to perform magic. This had gone on for the past two months, and she was getting tired of him being shirty with her. Honestly, if he would just slow down and pay attention to what he was doing, she wouldn't even have to say anything. If he and Harry would put as much effort into their schoolwork as they did skulking around the halls late at night, they would probably be able to do magic just as well as her. Perhaps she shouldn't have been as hard on them about that. After all, Malfoy could have used a good thrashing, even if she would never condone such violence out loud.

This thought made Ron cackle. So she had been on their side after all! But her next thought sobered him, as they walked outside in the direction of their next class.

She shifted her heavy bag. Her reaction wouldn't have been so severe if she hadn't been terrified at the prospect of being expelled. How would she ever explain that to her parents? They had trusted her enough to let her come to this school, even though it meant they wouldn't be seeing her for months at a time, and they were worried about how she would do in a place that would forever be a mystery to them. She couldn't bear to disappoint them. A flash of red caught her eye. Ron and Harry were still with the other boys, and she hurried to catch up. As she got nearer, his voice floated back to her.

She nearly tripped over her feet, her vision becoming blurry.

Nightmare.

No friends.

They were laughing.

They were all laughing.

Speeding up, she brushed past them, choking down the sobs that threatened to escape. Behind her, she heard Harry tell Ron that she had probably heard him. She didn't slow down to wait for an apology. There wouldn't be one coming. Not from him; not for her. Blindly, she climbed stairs and down hallways, coming to one of the girls' loos. Shutting herself in a stall, she slumped to the floor, finally letting herself cry. What a horrid boy! He was crude, and awful, and nasty, and...right.

She didn't have any friends. All of the girls in her year thought she was strange and stuck up, and had pretty much ignored her after the first week or so. The boys stuck together in their own group, and even Neville, as nice as he was, usually preferred their company over hers. This whole thing was a gigantic failure. Her one chance to start over, and she had already ruined it. Seven long, cold years stretched out before her, days turning into weeks where no one outside of the professors spoke to her. That might have been bearable, but now, not only did she not have a family to go home to at the end of the day, but the teasing had started. Oh, there had been whispers of what a know-it-all she was, but this was different. This would get them going even more. She whimpered. Bullying in the Muggle world was bad enough. What was she going to do if they used magic on her?

Ron kicked the wall. He wanted nothing more than to go back down and smack himself upside the head, to try to get it through his thick skull how much he had hurt her. But it would do no good even if he could. He had been a stubborn little prat, and he wouldn't listen to anyone, not even himself. Although, he had thought that she didn't have friends because it was her choice. Now he saw that she had been trying, but no one had bothered to take the time to get to know her, to put her at ease. Once Hermione relaxed, she could be a lot of fun. It just took a while to figure that out.

The door to the outside creaked open, and two girls came in and stood at the sinks, talking a mile a minute. Hermione gave a loud sniff, and it was enough to get their attention.

"Who's there?" Asked Parvati.

"It's just me." Hermione said around the lump in her throat.

"Hermione? Is that you in there? Are you all right?" Said Lavender, coming to stand just outside the door.

"I'm fine, really."

"You don't sound fine. Did something happen? Was it that dreadful Weasely boy? He said something nasty, didn't he."

"He...no...it's fine." Hermione had no idea what to say. No one outside of her parents and Jackie had ever bothered to ask her how she was.

"Ugh, he is such a pig! I don't know how you could even stand being around him." Lavender continued, earning a bemused quirk of the brow from Ron.

"Go on there, Lavender. Say how you really feel." He muttered. He was confused when Hermione became oddly defensive.

"He's not so bad, really...I...I just irritate him, that's all."

"Well, you shouldn't stay here crying over him. Come on out, the feast is going to start soon." Parvati added.

"No thanks. You two go on ahead. I don't feel very hungry."

"Alright, but you'll be missing some really amazing desserts, and I heard Dumbledore had something special planned." Tempted Lavender.

"Maybe later. Right now, I just want to be alone for a while."

Giving her up as a lost cause, Ron heard the other girls leave. He watched sadly as Hermione hugged her knees to her chest, refusing to leave until she was sure she was done crying. She sat there for several hours, the cold from the tile floor seeping through the fabric of her robes and skirt. Wiping her swollen eyes with her sleeve, she finally stood up, grabbing the strap of her bag as she stepped out of the stall. Going over to run some cool water for her face, she jumped in surprise as a loud crash came through the door, looking up in time to see a large form stagger through, before to door slammed shut behind it. There was a moment of stunned silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

For one, brief hysterical moment, she thought it was some kind of wizard Halloween prank, and she was ready to go up to the Common Room and chew out the twins. But the scream that was coming from her own mouth was enough to prove that this was no joke. The troll turned at the sound, lumbering in her direction, swinging a club that she knew would crush her skull if it connected. Everything began to move so fast; she was running, tripping, clawing at the locked door. Finding no escape, she darted around the room, the air from the swinging club tickling her neck.

This was it. She was going to die. She wondered, abstractedly, if her parents would be allowed to come for her body, or if she would be delivered like an early Christmas package. If there was enough left of her...

Suddenly, the door was thrown open, and two familiar heads of hair burst into the room. One black and perpetually messy, one a shock of bright red. She blinked. Had the troll hit her on the head without her realizing it? Harry, she could possibly understand. He hated to see someone in trouble. But Ron? He hated her, didn't he? Why on earth would he mess with a troll, just because of he- oh. He must have followed to help Harry.

Oddly pleased at this bit of logic amidst the chaos, she rolled under a sink as the club came down again, narrowly missing her. It was in a dreamlike state that she watched them fight the troll. She wanted to help, but couldn't. Her mind refused to accept that she was no longer about to die alone.

She sucked in a breath as she watched Harry astride the troll's shoulders. If something didn't happen soon, she was going to have to watch him be killed.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" Ron shouted from her left.

A smile flicked momentarily over her face. She knew he could do it if he really tried.

From the corner, Ron barked out a laugh. That was his Hermione; faced with death, she would still find some pleasure in being proved right. He watched as the troll went down with a thud, the teachers rushing in soon after. Hermione hadn't taken her eyes off of him, something he had been too busy to notice at the time. He wondered how many times he would find that to be the case.

She was silent as the teachers began to berate the boys. They had come back. After months of either being ignored or met with harsh words from them, they had come back. For her. McGonagall's angry voice cut through her thoughts. They had come back for her, and now they were going to get into trouble for it. Harry, who had so much to deal with already. Ron, who didn't like her at all, but came anyway because his friend needed him. They had been wonderful and brave, and now they were going to be punished for it.

No.

And without even caring about the consequences, Hermione opened her mouth and told her first lie since she was three years old.

Ron was torn. He had never really known how important this moment was to Hermione. For once, she felt like she was worth something to someone besides her parents, and it had engendered an instant, fierce loyalty within her. But he was sad, too. Sad, because she really thought that he might not have helped her if it hadn't been for Harry, that he wouldn't have cared if the troll had killed her. Which wasn't true. Yes, Harry had been the one to remember where she was and that she was in danger, but he had never wanted anything bad to happen to her, and had been secretly guilty over his thoughtless words. He hoped that Hermione would see that when she looked through his memories.

One scene faded into another, and now he was walking down the hall with Hermione. She had just exchanged some books from the library, and was on her way to join Ron watch Harry at Quidditch practise. Or, to be more precise, to read while she sat with Ron as he watched Harry. They were getting along much better now, and the times spent together without Harry weren't as strained. They still fought over homework, but it had lost the harsh edge of dislike.

She was striding down the path to the Quidditch pitch, pulling her scarf tighter around her throat, when someone stepped onto the path in front of her. Stopping short, the polite apology for nearly bumping into them died on her lips. Standing in front of her, wearing the sneer passed down from father to son for numerous generations, was Draco Malfoy.

Ron was caught off guard by how small he looked. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that the two meat-puppets that usually flanked him like bookends were missing, leaving him to stand alone. He narrowed his eyes. There was something about the little ferret's expression as he watched Hermione that Ron couldn't quite place, but knew he didn't like.

Hermione didn't budge, refusing to be the one to move out of the way. She detested this bully, this spoiled little rich boy. Hermione tried very hard to be a fair person, but she struggled to find something kind to say about Malfoy. The best she could think of was that he kept his two pet trolls well fed.

"What are you doing out here, Granger? Don't tell me you got lost on your way to the library." He drawled.

Chin jutting out, Hermione snapped back, "For your information, we're no where near the library. But I wouldn't expect you to be able to figure that out, seeing as you have no map with you."

The sneer slipped sideways on Draco's face for a moment, then he pushed back. "I see you're all alone. Do Potter and Weasley not need you around to do their homework?"

Hermione pushed down her fear, refusing to let him see that he had struck a nerve. This was something she had asked herself before; did Harry and Ron keep her around just to use her? As much as it hurt to admit, she couldn't think of any other reason. But she couldn't quite believe that. They had never sought her out. In fact, she was always the one to badger them about homework. Besides, she didn't think they were the type of people to use others like that. She glowered. Unlike the smarmy boy standing in front of her. No, Ron and Harry were her friends. And you fought trolls for your friends, even if they weren't there to see it.

Even if the troll in question was a spoiled rich boy.

"I think you're confusing them with yourself."

Malfoy smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? I can see why you would put up with it from Potter. Gets you a bit of reflected glory, right? But why waste your time with that pathetic weasel? He's a ginger freak that wouldn't know what to do with a knut if he got his hands on it."

Hermione was bubbling with anger. Ron could practically see her hair bristling like a cat's, her small body stiffening up to deliver a scathing retort.

"Ron doesn't need money! People like him for who he is. He doesn't have to buy friends, unlike you!"

Ron was surprised by the quick flash of hurt in Malfoy's eyes.

"What are you implying?" He snarled.

"Where are your two thugs? Is today their day off, or are they demanding a pay raise?" Hermione jibed.

Draco took a step towards her, reaching out a hand to grip her arm tightly. "Stupid girl! I had considered letting you join my group, even if you are a Gryffindor! Are you really telling me you'd choose those two bumbling idiots?"

Hermione yanked her arm away, leaning closer to hiss in his face. "Join you? Even you couldn't pay me enough for that!"

Finished with this nonsense, Hermione stepped around him, ignoring him when he called out, "You'll regret that, Granger! Just see if you don't!"

Hermione ignored him, but Ron was gobsmacked. Everything from Malfoy's expression to his tone of voice reminded him of the time he had broken one of his toys so he wouldn't have to hand it down to Ginny; a petty, imature, if-I-can't-have-it neither-can-you type move.

"That rat-faced wanker fancied her!" He yelled, finally understanding.

At first, he thought Malfoy was showing signs of fancying Hermione, but then he saw it for what it truly was. Like all Slytherins, Draco Malfoy had a quick eye for people that could further his own success. Hermione was a jewel to the teachers; there were probably a myriad of ways that she could be exploited for his gain if he could lure her away from Harry. Fortunately, Hermione was having none of it.

Adjusting her bag, she looked up, scanning the stands. Spotting Ron was easy, thanks to his hair, and she began to walk in his direction. Her mind was still on her confrontation with Malfoy. How dare he act like he was so much better than Ron! True, Ron could be short-tempered, and his words bordered on the thoughtlessly cruel, but for as long as she had known him, he had never set out with the intention of hurting someone for fun. And when he did end up hurting someone, you were always able to tell he felt bad about it once he cooled down. Not that she could say much; her own words could be a bit sharp.

Ron rolled his eyes as he walked beside her. "Sharp as Gryffindor's bloody sword, you mean."

Looking up, Hermione caught Ron's eye, and he grinned, waving her over. A smile lit Hermione's face. Ron was much more pleasant when he smiled instead of scowled, and the more time they spent together, the more often she got to see this. She gave a small skip. He was happy to see her. Even now, when homework was the last thing on his mind, he wanted her to be around. Even though it was probably too early to think so, somehow, she knew he had the potential to become a really great friend. As he passed her a slice of bread and jam he had saved for her, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the weight of her bookbag, she thought about the two boys she had begun to spend so much time with.

Harry was quiet, but with a smart tongue if he was pushed. He was laid back, and easy to talk to. Ron was different. He spoke his mind and didn't back down from an argument, and his quick, dry wit kept pace with hers in a fight. Really, she should by all accounts get along better with Harry. But as she watched Ron cheer on the players as they practiced, she couldn't help but think there was something special about him, something that made him stand out from other people. She wasn't sure what that was yet, but she was definitely going to find out. Reaching for her book, she gave a tiny smile, content to be sitting by her best friend, watching their other best friend on his broom. For so long, she had been looking for a place where she fit, where she felt like she could belong.

She thought she finally may have found it.

Ron couldn't help being confused. Neither he nor Harry had done much to earn this reaction from her, or her heated defence of him against Malfoy. In fact, he had been a git to her more often than not. Although, he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. Once Hermione found a cause she believed in, she threw herself into it with everything she had.

He wasn't given time to ponder that any further, for now he was back in the castle. Or, to be more accurate, under it. Hermione was shaking, the giant chessboard stretching out in front of them ominously. Her eyes kept darting from Ron to the giant pieces in front of her, wincing every time one moved in her direction. Her shoes were slippery on the marble, and she was deathly afraid she was going to slide off her square and lose them the game. She tried to take deep, even breaths as she listened to Ron call out the moves. He sounded so sure of himself, and she found that oddly comforting.

The game dragged on, the pieces being slowly eliminated one by one. They were nearing the end, and her skin prickled at the note of strain that was now in Ron's voice. She looked at Harry, trying to make sense of what was being said.

No.

No!

He couldn't do that! There had to be another way! She bit back a whimper as he called out the final move, the queen sliding to stand before him in one quick movement. Until now, she hadn't thought twice about letting Ron get them through this challenge. He was brilliant at chess, and she had had every confidence that he could handle this. What had she been thinking? This was madness, and now she was expected to stand here and watch as one of her best friends, in all likelihoodn, got killed!

She gave a scream as he was knocked from his horse, his body falling to the floor where it laid in a crumbled heap, shrapnel and dust from the broken pieces covering his body. Her stomach began to dry heave. Lurching in his direction, she was stopped by Harry. It took every ounce of control she had to stand there as he finished the game, but once he had, she practically flew to Ron's side. It barely registered when Harry joined her. All she could focus on was the relief was that Ron was still alive. Blood poured from a gash on his head, and she didn't know which to worry about more; a possible concussion, or blood loss. What if there was internal bleeding? They needed to get him to a hospital!

The sight of his own lifeless-looking body on the floor was disconcerting. He had the advantage of knowing he was going to be fine, but the poor twelve year old Hermione did not. They had never told him that Hermione had wanted to stay with him. He could feel it as she ran alongside Harry, the urge to turn back to help him warring with the knowledge that Harry was probably going to need her. She had sucked in a breath as they snuck around the unconscious troll, one that looked like a twin to the one that had attacked her months earlier. The potion puzzle that they were confronted with next worked to soothe her nerves a bit by giving herself something to focus on, and it was with a guilty sense of relief that she found that only one of them could move on. She was terrified for Harry, but she knew that if she could just get back to Ron, the two of them could go get help.

Her legs pumped furiously as she ran back the way she had come, hoping that he had woken up in the time she had been gone. He hadn't; he lay sprawled in the same heap where the queen had drug him. Falling to her knees, her hands fluttered over him, unsure about the best way to go about waking him up. Should she shake him, or slap him? What if that caused more damage? She moaned. There was so much blood!

"Ron? Ron! Come on, you have to wake up! Harry needs us!"

He made a gargled sound, his body flinching away from where she was poking him in the ribs.

"Please wake up! Harry needs us to go get help, but I'm not leaving here without you!"

Ron watched his eyes flutter open. He had never known what she had actually said to him. It had been the barely restrained hysteria in her voice that had woken him up.

Hermione helped him up, throwing one of his arms around her shoulders, bracing herself against his swaying weight. He looked horrible; bright, wet blood was plastered in his hair and streaming down the side of his face, which was nearly as pale as one of the castle ghost's. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, as if he didn't quite know where he was.

"Ron, can you stand? Do you know who I am?"

He pulled away, his voice thick and slurred when he answered, "'Course I know ya...yer Mynee. Can tell by the hair."

She let out a grunt as he staggered back into her, lolling his head onto hers. "Huh. 'T's soft. Niiiiiiiice. Think I'm gonna shleep now. Niiiiiiight."

Next to them, Ron blushed. Had he really snuggled into her hair like that? He thought that particular urge hadn't set in for a few more years. He was just glad that she was too preoccupied to notice it. She could wait to learn that he got...cuddly...when he was sick or injured, something his mum could attest to but thankfully kept her mouth shut about. It wasn't fair telling tales about a bloke when he was too delirious to know what he was doing!

"No! You can't! Ron, Harry's down there all alone with Snape! We have to go get Dumbledore!'

"Harry? Snape?" Her words seemed to bring him around. He shook his head, taking a few tottering steps towards the door. He squinted, raising a hand to his head.

Hermione stood beside him, chewing her lip in agitation. "Can you make it? Do you need to lean on me?"

"Yeah, come on. We need to get out of here." He grunted, becoming steadier on his feet as he lead the way.

She caught up to him, saying in a quiet voice, "What you did back there was really brave, but don't you ever do that again!"

He shot her a look. "Are you mental? I thought I was the one with the head injury. Of course I'll do something like that again if I have to! It was the only way!"

They didn't have time to fight about it, so she said nothing. It had been a wonderful, incredibly brave thing he had done, and she was terribly proud of him.

But she despised how easily he threw himself away.

Oh. So she hadn't been in a snit just because she had thought he was being reckless.

"Here, you take this one." Ron offered, handing her one of the brooms he had snatched up.

"No, we're going to have to take the same one." She responded, reaching into her pocket.

"Look, Hermione, I know you don't like to fly, but for once, could you just-"

"Unless you can fly a broom and play a flute at the same time, you're going to have to deal with it!" She snapped, waving the flute in his face.

"Wha-? Oh. Oh! Bugger, I had forgotten about that. Alright then, I'll steer, you play."

He mounted the broom, waiting to feel her get on behind him before he kicked off. Hermione took advantage of the situation to hug him tightly, disguising the move so it looked like she was trying not to fall. She had been so afraid he wasn't going to wake up! But here he was, bickering with her like everything was normal. She buried her face in the back of his sweater. She knew she couldn't say anything about it or give him a proper hug, because that would just be strange. He would think she was being a silly, soppy girl, and they would both be uncomfortable. She squeezed harder. He was alright. They were all going to be alright.

It had been smart of her not to make a big deal of it, Ron thought. He would have been embarrassed, and would have had no idea how to handle it. His emotional range wasn't even remotely close to a teaspoon at that point. Still, he knew that if he had known how worried about him and proud she was, he would have been pleased. Hell, it was ages ago, and he was happy finding out about it just now!

Flying into the darkness, he emerged not in the room with Fluffy, but once again found himself on the Hogwarts Express. The three of them were sitting in a compartment, Hermione across from the two boys. They were munching on Cauldron Cakes and drinking pumpkin juice from the snack car, talking about their plans for the summer.

Hermione was both excited and anxious about going home. She had missed her parents, and was looking forward to spending time with them, but had noticed that over the Christmas break there was something...different. Before, she could talk about her schoolwork with her parents, and have enjoyable conversations about what she was learning. They would answer any questions she had, or they would look it up together. Now, they were lost. They struggled to understand, but to them, magic was magic, and they only thing they had to go by was the type seen in films, where everything happened with little to no effort. They knew she was working hard; they just couldn't grasp to what extent. It didn't help that she couldn't even show them, due to the under age magic law.

The other problem had been that her mind had been elsewhere over break. It had been focused on Harry and Ron, and the mystery of Nickolas Flammel. She couldn't help but feel guilty; she loved her parents very much, but she had wanted to stay at Hogwarts. Not that she told them, of course, but she suspected they knew. It had been a strange and wonderful thing, having friends, and leaving that behind, even for a few weeks, was hard.

Now she would have to do it again, this time for months. Nervous questions ran through her head. Would they be friends next year? Would they forget about her over the summer? Would they think about her at all, or would she become just another name they recalled as someone being in their year? She shook off these thoughts, choosing to enjoy the train-ride as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, she gave her attention to what they were saying.

Ron was telling Harry that they would have to owl each other over the holiday. Hermione squirmed. She wanted to ask if they would write her as well, but she was afraid of being pushy. She wanted them to write because they wanted to, not because they felt like they had to.

"Wait, what about Hermione? She doesn't have an owl." Harry asked.

Hermione looked up at the sound of her name, surprised to be included.

Ron blinked. "I didn't think about that. Never knew anyone who's family didn't have an owl before. Sorry 'bout that Hermione." He added apologetically.

"Oh, no, that's fine! I wasn't expecting anyone to write me or anything!" She said with a false brightness, having forgotten her lack of an owl herself.

Harry and Ron traded a look. "Of course we were going to write you. Weren't we Ron?"

"'Course! Look, me and Harry will send you our letters first, and you can send your answer back with Errol and Hedwig, alright?"

Hermione perked up, but tried not to look too excited. Coming across as clingy and pathetic was not how she wanted to be seen.

"Alright then! Wait, they will be able to find me, right?"

"Sure, that's what they do. Although Errol may take ages to get there. If he passes out, just lay him on a dresser or something until he comes to." He said gloomily, his ears turning pink.

Hermione knew he was embarrassed by his family's owl, so she tried her best to smooth it over. "That's fine. My mum finds owls a bit frightening and fierce looking, so maybe getting to know Errol will make her more likely to let me get one of my h own. Having him stay over for a bit will give me practice taking care of one."

Ron smiled, relaxing a little as the subject changed, pleasing Hermione. Inside, she was relieved. They had been intending to write her all along, as if it was perfectly natural to do. For some reason, this more than anything else assured her that they really did consider her to be a friend. Suddenly, summer looked far less lonely than it had only minutes before. She could go home, enjoy the vacation her parents had planned, and read the books she had been saving up. Her mum would cook her favorite foods, and her dad would take her to the pool on hot days.

But the thing she was looking to forward most was that first letter.

Ron paled considerably at this. He had come very close to not sending it at all. Once the twins and Ginny had found out he was writing a girl, they had become merciless with their teasing. In his embarrassment, he had nearly left it up to Harry to to keep in contact with Hermione, trying to justify it by telling himself that she'd rather hear from Harry than him anyway, but was too polite to say so. But once his mum had found out that he had promised Hermione, she had insisted, and after several letters the twins had gotten bored and moved on to something else. Then he and Hermione had figured out that none of their letters were getting through to Harry, and that had given him something to focus on. Seeing how much his messy scribbles had meant to her made him glad he had gone through with it. He made a mental note to thank his mum.

The window of the train warped, shifting into the window of her bedroom. An owl tapped at the glass. A letter had arrived. Ron followed along behind Hermione's bushy hair, both eager to read what was inside.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione followed Ron as he dragged his heavy trunk behind him, watching as he peered into each compartment before moving to the next. He was all alone. Percy had disappeared, off to do whatever it was that disgustingly perfect students did. Fred and George had bounded away to find their friend Lee, and though Ron knew he could count on them if he actually needed help with something, he prefered not to start off being known as the irritating tag-along. He had enough obstacles to overcome as it was, no sense giving people another reason to make fun of him...he sighed. A ginger's lot was a hard one.

Reaching the end and turning back, he saw that he had missed the last compartment on the opposite side. Looking in, he saw that it was only occupied by one person, the boy he had seen earlier. Fred and George had said he was Harry Potter, but Ron had lived with his brothers long enough to be skeptical. He was relieved at being told he could come in; he had begun to fear that he would spend the entire trip walking up and down the corridor.

Finding out that the other boy actually was Harry Potter came as a shock. All his life he had heard the stories, and now here he was, sitting right across from him, scar and all! When he realized he was staring, he blushed and turned to the window. He had probably made the poor bloke feel like a freak. Brilliant, he had finally been able to talk to someone his age, and now it probably looked like he was only talking to him because he was famous.

Harry didn't seem to hold it against him, though, so he found himself slowly relaxing, until his brothers popped in. Praying that they wouldn't pull one of their practical jokes just yet, he almost didn't pay attention to what they were saying.

Until he heard the word, 'spider.' He grunted a reply, knowing that this was the twins' subtle way of warning him not to come looking for them. They weren't exactly models of sensitivity, but by unspoken agreement they never used spiders to tease him, and usually made sure he didn't have to deal with them. Which, Ron thought, was only fair, since it was their fault he had this...condition to begin with. Fortunately, they left without doing anything that would make him look stupid. Things were going well, until the snack cart arrived, the smells wafting in and making his stomach growl.

He wanted to buy something, anything, off of the cart so badly that he almost ached. His ears burned with embarrassment as he pulled out the sandwiches his mum had given him, groaning when he saw that they were corned beef, the one meat on Merlin's green earth that he couldn't stand. It was that wanker Percy's favorite, and he cursed him silently, before realizing that Harry had just bought a huge pile of junk food and was offering to share. His mouth watered as he fought the urge to dive in. He didn't like accepting favors he knew he couldn't return. It made him feel...well, strange, as if he were using people. All he had were his nasty sandwiches, but a sense of fairness and pride made him offer them anyway. Harry was polite when he turned them down, but the gesture made Ron feel better. He was put even more at ease when Harry described that he was always stuck with hand-me-downs himself; there was something nice about talking to a person that knew where he was coming from. Although he got the feeling that Harry's family didn't like him much, if at all. He shuddered. His family might be annoying, but at least they never treated him like he was worthless.

They continued to gorge themselves on the food, only interrupted by a plump, tearful boy asking if anyone had seen his toad. Ron felt bad for him. He might not have a lot, but at least a rat was a step up. He eyed the sleeping rodent critically. Well, now was as good a time as any to try that-

The door swished open, and Ron looked up to find a girl with bushy hair that floated around her head like a cloud. She asked if they had seen a toad, and her tone of voice was so bossy that it immediately set his teeth on edge. She was giving off strong, Percy-like vibrations, and the more she talked, the stronger it got. Not only did she insult his spell (he was going to smother the twins in their sleep tonight), but she couldn't seem to shut up, her words coming so fast and clipped that he could only really grasp the fact that she was ordering them to change their clothes. Blimey, if you cut Percy in half and put him in drag, you would end up with this girl right here!

Hermione moaned in mortification, her hands covering her face. She wanted to reach over and cover her own mouth to shut herself up, but could only watch as she dug herself in deeper, drawing attention to the dirt on his nose. She saw him bristle up, taking it as some sort of slur against his family, as if she had insinuated that because he was poor, he obviously lived in filth. She couldn't find it in her to be surprised when he told Harry that he hoped they wouldn't be in the same house. Harry had been wise enough not to mention the dirt; had she really lacked that much tact at that age?

Ron soothed his wounded feelings with another chocolate frog, making a mental note to avoid that girl in the future. He already felt inferior enough as it was, he didn't need to hang about with someone who was going to continually rub his face in it. Not that he thought he had to worry. He could tell she was probably incredibly smart, so she would most likely end up in Ravenclaw, a house that he was in no danger of being sorted into. No, the most he would be seeing of her was across the Great Hall at meals, which suited him just fine. Best not to even think about her, really, when he had bigger problems to worry about. Such as if he would make it into Gryffindor...

The train sped through a tunnel, the walls melting into a corridor of the school. It was one Hermione knew well, even after all these years. She was standing right outside Professor Flitwick's class, students streaming out, voices raised as they discussed the days lesson. Her stomach dropped as she heard the word 'feather.' She knew exactly what day this was now.

"All the sensitivity of a warthog!" She hissed as he walked past, along with Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville.

Ron was silently fuming. How was it that he got paired up with that bleeding Hermione Granger? As if classes weren't hard enough! He always got nervous when he was first trying something new. He got so caught up in trying not to look stupid, that he ended up choking. Which, in turn, lead him to looking stupid. It was a shitty cycle, but one he had gotten used to playing off like it didn't bother him. Her constant yammering of what he was doing wrong just made it even harder for him, and then she had to go and do it perfect on her first try! She had probably done it on purpose, just to make him look bad. Deep down, he didn't really beileve that, but when he was mad, his emotions carried him, his mouth usually going along for the ride. Which was why, when Seamus made a comment about how quick Hermione was to catch on to magic, the words left him before he could really think of what he was saying.

They were still hanging in the air when someone brushed past him, someone with unmistakable hair. His mouth hung open as he watched her shoot ahead, head down and shoulders hunched. When Harry said that she had heard him, he felt queasy. He could tell he had hurt her feelings, and, as mad at her as he was, that was something he hadn't intended to do. His skin flushed guiltily, aware that as bossy and harsh as she could be, she had never gone so far as to insult him. And he had just said something really cruel, in front of other people, which only made things worse. He felt downright lousy, but he had no idea what to do. Come to think of it, had he ever even apologized to someone without his mum making him? He doubted it. Hoping the problem would go away if he ignored it, he pushed those thoughts aside, instead concentrating on the upcoming feast.

Which worked reasonably well, until Neville opened his big fat mouth to say that she had been crying all day. Thanks loads, mate. The sweet candy turned sour in his mouth, and the lump in his throat made it difficult to swallow. He had made a girl cry. More than that, he had made Hermione cry, a girl he imagined as having bollocks of steel. In the back of his mind, he had always sort of hoped he would get a spell right in class, preferably one she was having trouble with. She would be amazed, admit he was brilliant, and ask for his help. Of course, he would brush his success off as no big deal, show her what she was doing wrong, and then bask in her praise as she admitted he wasn't as worthless as she thought. That dream was looking less and less likely to happen, seeing as she hated his guts now. The thought made him strangely unhappy.

Hermione flinched, for once not at his table manners. She had never thought he was useless, but seeing things through his eyes, she understood how he came to believe that. She was constantly on him, always telling him what he was doing wrong. She never bothered to praise him when he was doing something right, acting as if that was to be expected. Each little fact or random bit of trivia was seen as a highlight of his ignorance, which explained why her conversational gambits always fell so painfully flat. She could only hope that she had gotten better over the years, because her unwitting part in his insecurity was painful to watch.

He was chewing on a piece of pie when Professor Quirrel burst through the doors, squawking and flailing about a troll. The room filled with the screams of panicked students, and Ron was thankful that his mouth was too full to join them. He did his best to surpress the fear bubbling in his chest as they were being lead back to the dorms, until Harry hissed in his ear.

Bugger.

Had he felt sick before? If so, it was nothing compared to the way his stomach was churning now. Harry was right, she had no idea what danger she was in. She may be the most brilliant which Hogwarts had, but a troll didn't fight with wits. She didn't stand a chance, and it would be all his fault. It had been bad enough that he had hurt her feelings; he didn't think he could live with the guilt he would have if she ended up dying.

His heart hammered in his chest as he tore after Harry, trying and failing to come up with a way out of this that didn't result in at least one of them being killed. There was a brief moment of peace when they had locked the troll into one of the rooms, but that was shattered by the sound of a shrill scream. He met Harry's eyes, seeing his own horror mirrored there. Hastily, they scrambled into the bathroom, and he gulped audibly at the scene.

That troll. Was. Fucking. Huge.

This was not what he had had in mind when he wished for a way out of writing his potions essay. In fact, he would write five at double the length if someone would come along and save them. But the luck of the day held, and no help was forthcoming. Instead he followed Harry's lead by chucking debris at the troll, a move to be futile at least, suicidal at best.

He snorted. Face it, Weasley. You ordered your own coffin the second you stepped through that door.

The sight of Harry being whipped around on the troll's shoulders would be hilarious under other circumstances, but right now it had Ron's knees shaking. How was he supposed to help? What could he possibly do that wouldn't fuck things up more? Wasn't it at least partially his fault that they were in this mess to begin with?

A glance at Hermione told him that if anything was going to be done, it had to come from him. Her skin was an unhealthy shade of white, and it was a miracle she hadn't passed out yet. She was going to die thinking he was not only a screw-up, but a complete and utter bastard.

That thought did something to him, and without even realizing what he was doing, his wand was pointed in front of him, the words that had been burned into his brain hours earlier erupting r from him.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"

Somewhere, somebody must love him, because despite all common sense, it seemed to work. The floor shook under him as the troll dropped, and he closed his eyes briefly, still not quite sure how it was that he was still alive. Loud voices came from behind him, causing him to groan.

Of course. Now the professors would show up. Not in time to help, mind you, just in time to rip him a new arse. At least Harry was going down with him, small comfort that that was. Or was he? You could have knocked him down with a Wingardium Leviosaed feather when Hermione piped up, lying as smoothly as one of the twins, a fact that gave him pause. What really floored him was that Hermione Granger, serious, perfect, rule-loving Hermione Granger, had just lied to a professor. For him. Well. More than likely it was for Harry, but still. He didn't doubt that she could have found a way to save Harry and leave him hanging. He wouldn't have been able to blame her, after the way he had treated her today. She had just saved him, and he knew he didn't deserve it.

He felt lower than slug slime.

Dragging himself back to the tower, he kept hoping that she would say something, hold it over his head, threaten to tell the truth if he made her mad. Instead, she gave a shy, hesitant smile, as if she wasn't completely sure that he wasn't going to say something horrid to her.

There was a part of him that wanted to. It was the part that was mad at her, not only for being so perfect all the time, but for the way she had completely ruined the careful image he had built of her. She was still smart, and more than a little scary, but comparing her to Percy was no longer going to fly. His brother would have ratted hard enough to sprout a tail and set of whiskers. But Hermione...as important as school was to her, she had risked it all for them, with no hesitation, and no expectation of thanks. He added another healthy serving of guilt to his mental plate. Okay, he had misjudged her. But maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe, if he made the effort to get to know her, she would show more of the person he caught a glimpse of in the loo.

He returned her smile, and nearly tripped when hers grew into a large grin, nothing like the tight, pleased smile she gave teachers that praised her. Had he ever really seen her smile before? Looking back, he had to come to the conclusion that he hadn't. The more he thought about it, though, the more he wondered if she had had anything to smile about. Which raised another question. Had he ever heard her laugh? No. But, he thought as he entered the Common Room, maybe he could do something about that.

Hermione sniffled, brushing the tears out of her eyes. She had always wondered why his eyes would light up victoriously whenever she would cave in and laugh at his clowning, as if he had pulled off some great feat. She thought she couldn't love him any more than she already did, but learning that he had made it his personal mission to get her to laugh more only proved her wrong. It was strange, but she was falling in love with him all over again. His efforts hadn't always worked out, and had been rather crude at times, but he had tried. He still tried, and his eyes still glinted with pleasure each time he got her to laugh.

She stepped through the portrait hole and into the Common Room, finding that it was no longer Halloween, but several months into the future, sometime after the Christmas holidays. In fact, she recalled it was around early spring.

Ron sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, blinking at the flames and rubbing his temples with one hand. The room was blessedly quiet now that everyone was at dinner, and the pounding in his head had dulled to a bearable level. He had felt shitty all day, but because of a mysterious and highly contaigous rash going around the fourth year Hufflepuffs, only students with serious injuries were allowed to go to the hospital wing. The air was a bit stuffy in the dorm, so he had shuffled down to the Common Room, flinching in pain every time someone spoke loudly. Harry and Hermione had gone down to eat, both shooting him worried looks when he had decided not to join them. He was regretting that, his stomach rumbling in protest, but knew that the noise would make his head explode.

He shifted around into a more comfortable position, almost missing the sound of someone entering the room. To his surprise, it was Hermione, levitating a tray piled high with food in front of her.

"Hermione? What's all that?"

She made her way over to him, sending the tray to rest on the table in front of him, then sitting down on a large cushion on the floor.

"Your dinner, of course. I thought that by now you would be regretting your decision not to come down." She answered, handing him a fork and a plate loaded with string-beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, and-sweet Merlin! fried chicken!

"Honestly Ron, the way you look at that chicken is positively indecent!"

He tore his rapturous gaze away from his food to look at her, smiling sheepishly when he saw that she was teasing.

"Can't help it. Chicken is my favorite, after all." He said, sinking his teeth into a drumstick.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I gathered that by the way you act like you're seconds away from proposing to it every time we have some."

Shrugging, he barely managed to swallow before saying, "Well, as long as I'm going to make an honest bird out of it, then I should be able to look at it how ever I want."

Hermione snorted, taking a sip from the glass of pumpkin juice she had brought up for herself. Ron smirked as he continued to chew. The fact that she had thought to bring him food, and had remembered his favorites, was oddly flattering. It was moments like these that reinforced what a good idea it had been to get to know her better. He had learned a lot about her already, like the fact that although she nagged and grumbled, she was just as likely to go out of her way to do something nice. Still, he had to wonder why she was up here with him instead of with Harry. It was true that they got along a lot better than they had in the beginning, but they still sniped at each other a fair bit, while she and Harry didn't seem to argue at all.

"So why did you do this, anyway?" He asked bluntly, mentally slapping himself. Great. Now he sounded like a ungrateful tit, and she was probably going to storm off in a huff, leaving him alone.

Her cheeks pinkened a few shades, and her eyes didn't quite meet his. "Because I knew you were hungry, of course! That's what friends do!" She seemed to think of something, and her eyes shot to his, her expression strangely vulnerable. "I mean...we are friends, right?"

Ron felt his ears warm up, and it wasn't from the fire. How could she ask an unfair question like that? You didn't go around asking if you were friends with people! You either were, or you weren't. Or was this some soppy girl thing that he didn't understand? Dimly, he was aware of his mouth opening and closing, his throat emitting a gurgling noise.

Hermione shifted her feet under her as if she was going to stand up, her words coming out rapid and high pitched.

"That is to say, I didn't mean to assume or anything, I completely understand-"

"Of course we are! Why do you even have to ask?" He finally blurted.

She sank back down on the cushion, looking faintly relieved. "Well, we've never actually said, so I wasn't totally sure..."

He rolled his eyes, taking a bite of potatoes. "Don't know how they do it in the Muggle world, but you don't need to have a verbal contract or anything to be friends here. You act like you've never-" he broke off, a sick suspicion creeping into his mind, which only strengthened when she began to chew on her lip nervously.

Carefully, he set his fork down, hardly daring to believe it. "Hermione," he spoke slowly, "you have had friends before, right? Before you came to Hogwarts?"

She gave him a small, half smile, that he somehow found sadder than if she had started crying. "Most people don't want to be friends with a nightmare, Ron." She said quietly.

He jerked back, her words Stirring up the guilt he thought he had managed to bury. He had hoped she had forgotten that.

Apparently, she hadn't.

"Look, when I said that...I didn't really mean it, alright?" He muttered uneasily, running the hand that wasn't holding his fork through his hair. "I was just hacked off, and...well, Mum always says that it's my mouth that's going to get me into trouble."

Hermione shrugged. "I understand. I know I'm not the easiest person to put up with. I'm bossy and demanding, and my temper can get the best of me. I suppose it's surprising that I didn't get sorted into Slytherin."

The guilt he was feeling vanished, replaced by anger. How could she even think that? Bossy and demanding yes, but she was also smart and loyal and kind, things the dungeon dwellers could only dream of being.

The sound of his hand hitting the table made her jump, and she was taken aback as she saw his eyes flashing in anger.

"You're nothing like those slimy, smarmy snakes Hermione!" He growled fiercely. "Don't ever think you are!"

He sat back, embarrassed at how emotional he was. "Now, if you told me you thought you should be a Ravenclaw, then I'd agree with you. Honestly, that's where I thought you were going to end up in the beginning." He joked, trying to lighten the mood.

She smiled. "I guess that would have made sense. I don't know how I ended up in Gryffindor; I've never thought of myself as particularly brave."

Ron took a large gulp of his drink. "Know what you mean. I think I only got in because the rest of my family did. I mean, I'm no prize, but I'm not bad enough for Slytherin. Definitely not hard working enough for Hufflepuff. And Ravenclaw...well. you've seen my essays. They speak for themselves, don't they?"

"You fought the troll. I'd say that was pretty brave."

He shrugged, cheeks flaming, uncomfortable by the praise. That didn't really count. He had just been helping Harry, and he had been frightened out of his mind. Still, the fact that she thought he belonged in Gryffindor lifted his spirits. Hermione was hardly ever wrong, so maybe he did belong, after all. He just wished he had a chance to do something to prove it to himself.

Before he could ask her if she had any ideas of how he might go about that, someone stumbled into the room. It was Neville, clutching his toad Trevor.

"Hey Neville. Back already?" Ron called.

Neville waved his toad at him, clumps of sludgy brown gunk falling to the floor. "Had to come back early. Trevor hopped into the gravy boat, and I need to wash him off." Neville sighed, stumping up the stairs.

Ron arched his eyebrow at Hermione. "On the other hand, maybe it's just a poor crop of Gryffindors all around, this year."

"Ron! That's not very nice!" She admonished.

He grinned, pleased that she was acting more like herself. Hermione was at her best when she was all worked up, and it was his job to see that she stayed that way.

If he was honest, he would admit that he hated seeing her look so down and hard on herself. But he still lacked the emotional maturity to embrace things like compassion, and instead passed it off as a side effect from his sore head.

Hermione smiled as she watched them. Ron was barely at half a teaspoon at this point. Overt displays of kindness were rare and executed clumsily, and he was years away from physical displays of affection. But the impulse was there, buried beneath his inexperience and insecurity. He had good intentions, but had no idea how to emplement them, so, instead of risking failure, he put on a cocky front. He was a work in progress, a sculpture that the chisel had only barely begun to shape. The material was raw, but honest, and she could feel the attachment he felt for her as it began to form. True, right now it was strictly platonic, but it was a good, solid foundation to build on.

The fire flared brightly, dazzling her eyes. Once the spots cleared, she had to adjust to the darkness. The Common Room was gone, and the terror that clutched her heart made it hard to think. Dimly, she was aware of his resolve, his conviction of what had to be done. The dank air triggered her own memories.

There it was. The chessboard.

Ron knew what he had to do, even as he tried to talk himself out of it. Harry had only been playing chess for a few months, and Hermione was far to impatient to plan moves ahead of time. That left him to get him through this mess, a prospect that had his palms sweating if only he was more like his brothers! But he wasn't. He wasn't clever and resourceful like Bill, or brave like Charlie, or even bright and logical like Percy. He was just a twelve year old boy who happened to be a somewhat decent chess player, and it was just his luck that not only his life, but those of his friends as well, hung in the balance. He had hoped that Hermione would argue and offer some sort of alternative, but the blasted girl chose now of all times to let him have his way.

He hoped she wasn't going to come to regret that.

Soon, his panic gave way to intense concentration, his eyes constantly scanning the layout of the board, studying each piece. His heart leaped into his throat every time he almost let Harry or Hermione walk into a trap, but somehow he managed to keep it together. He was growing desperate to end the game, but the harder he thought, the more he saw that there could be only one possible outcome. He was going to have to sacrifice himself. The thought made him dizzy. He had seen what happened to the losing pieces, and what it would mean for him. Either he would be going home in a box, or he would spend the rest of his life in the 'special' ward of St. Mungo's. He could keep playing and hope to find a way out, but the longer this kept on, the more likely that it was Harry or Hermione that would end up being taken.

And when he thought of it like that, there really was no choice.

They protested, of course, and Hermione looked as if she was about to burst into tears, but they knew he was right. Bracing himself, he took a final look at his friends as he called out the last move. The queen slid forward, raising her great stone arm high above her head, then bringing it down swiftly. For one second he felt intense pain.

And then nothing. Nothing at all.

Hermione screamed as her world went black, frantic at the loss of her connection to him, before realizing it was because he was unconscious. There was barely any time for her to think about it before his eyes fluttered open, the time passing faster than what she knew had actually occurred.

His mum was shrieking at him to wake up again. Ron groaned, wanting nothing more than to bury his head under the pillow and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, she had hit that certain pitch that meant business, promising swift punishment to whoever was foolish enough to ignore her.

The world was a lot darker than he remembered it. Fuzzier, too. Oh, wait. That was Hermione's hair. What was she doing at the Burrow? He let her pull him up, her chattering words hardly making any sense to him. Everything swayed and spun around him, and he leaned into her for balance. Hmmm, soft, like the blanket her had when he was little. Maybe if he took a little nap...but then the words 'Harry' and 'Snape' registered with him, and the haze around his brain started to clear. He jerked away from her unsteadily, embarrassed by the way he had nuzzled into her hair. Sweet Merlin, he hoped she wouldn't bring that up! Obviously that blow to the head he had taken was more serious than he thought, if he was going to go treating Hermione as if she were his mum.

Luckily for him, she was more focused on getting out of there and finding help for Harry, and he ran along in front of her, deeply concerned for his friend as well. They needed Dumbledore, and they needed him fast. Hermione's words broke through his thoughts, but he didn't think he heard her right. What did she mean, never do that again? Of course he would, if he had to. What kind of friend would he be if he couldn't even do that much? She didn't understand. He didn't have a lot to give. Not just in the sense that he was poor and couldn't treat his friends to much, but also that he didn't really have any outstanding qualities that would be of any use to anyone. All he had to give was himself. It wasn't much, but if it was needed then he wouldn't hesitate to do so. Not to say that he wasn't pleased to find that he hadn't snuffed it. His mum would've killed him if he had died. After all, none of his brothers had gotten themselves killed at school.

The ride on the broom would have been fun except for the small matter of getting past Fluffy, who came uncomfortably close to them before falling over asleep from the flute that Hermione was playing. Taking no chances, he landed as close to the door as he could, and they wasted no time in bolting from the room.

"Ron, let's go to Dumbledore's office. That's the most likely-"

"Ah, Miss Granger and Mister Weasley. I trust you've been to visit Fluffy?"

They spun around to find Dumbledore himself at the other end of the hall, walking towards them briskly.

"Professor, Harry is-"

"Yes Miss Granger, I suspect I know exactly where Mister Potter is. Might I borrow that charming flute you're holding?"

Hermione handed it to him wordlessly, and they both watched as he opened the door. He looked back over his shoulder.

"Mr. Weasley, you might have Miss Granger take you to the hospital wing. Head injuries can be tricky things."

Ron watched the door shut, bringing a hand to his head. He winced away at the pain, then looked down at his sticky palm. It was covered in half congealed blood, and he could feel more of it still trickling down his neck. Now that adrenaline was no longer pumping through him, he began to feel whoozy. Hermione must have seen this, because immediately she was at his side, pulling an arm around her shoulders.

"Oi, you'll get blood all over you!" He exclaimed, trying to pull away.

She gave him a look of disbelief. "Ron, you nearly got killed! Do you really think I'm going to make a fuss over some blood?"

"So if I hadn't almost died, then you'd have a problem?"

"How can you joke like that? You have no idea how worried I was. I was so afraid you weren't going to wake up!"

They were nearly to the hospital wing, Ron noticed thankfully. He didn't think he could handle it if she started to cry.

"Well, I did, and Dumbledore's with Harry, so everything's fine, yeah?" He asked, hoping she would perk up.

"I guess so. Still, I want Madam Pomfrey to look at your head. You may need to go to the hospital."

"No worries. It was only my head; I don't think you can really damage it more than it already is. Or if you can, I don't think you'd be able to tell." He chuckled.

Hermione paused outside the door, surprising him with a fierce glare. "Don't be ridiculous! You were brilliant tonight, and we wouldn't have been able to do it without you! Stop being so down on yourself. The rest of us know you're smart, even if you can't see it yourself."

Ron sucked in his breath, his eyes going wide as he looked down at her while she opened the door. He couldn't possibly be awake; he was still passed out and dreaming, and any moment he would wake up to find her berating him for his recklessness. Still, it felt real, and on the off chance that it was, he was determined to memorize every word that she had just said, so he could replay it in the future.

Madam Pomfrey was fit to be tied at the sight of them, ordering them into beds while she treated their injuries. She found that Ron did have a crack on his skull, but it wasn't anything major and with the medicine she gave him and a good night's sleep, he would be right again in the morning.

After she had finished up and left, Hermione slipped from her bed to sit in the chair next to him, quietly filling him in on everything that had happened after he had been knocked out. He was impressed by the potion puzzle, knowing it would have stumped both him and Harry. And then she had come all the way back by herself, even though the troll could have woken up. She really was quite brave.

"Hey, Hermione?" He asked sleepily, eyes struggling to stay open.

"What?"

"Can see why you got put in Gryffindor."

It was silent, and he thought she might have left, when, "Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"You too."

Smiling, he slept.

This time Hermione was prepared for it, though she took the time to savor the warm feeling her words had given him. She could tell that he had never forgotten them, and they had meant more than he had been able to show at the time.

When the light returned to her, so did sound, the shrieks and whistles signalling that she was on the Hogwarts Express. They had just finished talking about owling one another, and Ron was feeling a bit stupid.

What had he been thinking? Of course her family didn't have an owl. Harry only had one because Hagrid had bought it for him. It was just that Hermione had taken so well to the Wizarding world, that he always forgot she was Muggleborn. He wished he had an owl to send her besides Errol. He wasn't exactly the best introduction to owls that her parents could have, what with him nearly dying every time he delivered a letter, flopping over lifelessly like a moth-eaten feather duster. Hermione didn't seem to mind, though, so he supposed it was alright. He just hoped that she wouldn't get too naggy in her letters. If she thought he was spending his summers memorizing next year's books, she could just think again. Deciding he would claim that he had (oh so conveniently) lost any letter that hinted about schoolwork, he set about enjoying the last conversation he would be having with his friends for several months.

Months. Strange, but that seemed longer than it had when he was looking forward to it this morning. But now it was hitting him that he wouldn't be seeing them every day, and it made him feel rather lonely. He shook his head. As if he could be lonely in a house with eight other people. He must be mental!

The ride passed quickly, and the train squeaked and groaned as they pulled into the station. There was mass confusion as everyone went about saying there goodbyes and gathering up their belongings, and the three of them shared an exasperated look at the mournful wail of, "Trevor!" That wafted through the crowd. They finally made it off the train, the bright red hair of his family making it easy to spot them. Harry was hanging back, and Ron could tell he was squeezing in every last second he could before his uncle showed up.

Hermione must have seen her parents, for she bolted off with a loud cry, nearly tipping over her cart in the rush. Ron watched as she was met by a smiling couple, both rushing to hug her at once. He didn't know much about clothes, but the ones her parents were wearing looked expensive. They weren't flash, but they were nice, and Ron realized that her family was probably well off. The realization made him squirm for a moment. She was used to nice things, so why on earth was she hanging about with the likes of him? Harry was...well, Harry was Harry Potter. Everyone wanted to be around him. Defeated Voldemort as a baby, became a Qudditch star his very first year. He brushed those thoughts aside. Things like that didn't matter to Hermione. For whatever reason, she had decided to be friends with them, and even if she did like Harry more, she would never make a big deal out of it.

"Harry, Ron, come here a minute!" Hermione said, taking him and Harry by surprise as she grabbed them by the wrists, yanking them along behind her.

He traded a baffled look with Harry behind her back. He allowed himself to be pulled in front of her parents, while she stood there beaming.

"Mum, Dad, these are my best friends, Harry and Ron."

Ron looked over at Harry, and they both smiled at her enthusiasm. He noticed that she was still holding on to them. Both of them.

Best friends. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded just about right to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Here we are, ready to start year two. I had originally planned to fit each year into a chapter set, one from Hermione's perspective, and one from Ron's, at least until chapter four. Ha. Haha. Hahahah-choke, wheeze-. As you can see, I was unable to restrain myself. So in this chapter, it will be year 2 part 1 for Hermione, with chapter 7 being year 2 part 1 for Ron, returning to Hermione in chapter 8.

Thank you to everyone that has reviewed and added this story to their alerts! I have tried to respond to each review, but ran into issues with my reply function. If I didn't get to you, I am truly sorry; each review is special to me, and I will try harder in the future. To the guest that asked me not to stop writing: Never fear! I hate unfinished fics, and have never failed to complete one. I have no intention of starting now.

Special thanks to HalfASlug, who made sure British terms were used correctly in this chapter. Any mistakes in chapter 7 are my own, and will be corrected once she has left her slug trail of correction. If you haven't read her work, please do so. Each one is utterly delightful!

Special thanks also to FromtheDepthsofMadness for the romione song recommendations. I have plans to use most of them for inspiration.

And now, on with the story! Read and enjoy(review)!

The owl that crashed into the window was unmistakably Errol. Hermione quickly scooped the limp bird up, placing him gently on the small pillow she had set on her dresser for just this purpose. He lay there gasping for air, while she fixed him a cup of water and set out a few owl treats. The poor thing always looked so looked so pathetic upon arrival that even her mother, who was not normally fond of owls, felt sorry for him. She would insist that the worn out creature spend the night before Hermione sent him home, and Hermione had even caught her stroking his bedraggled feathers several times.

Ron shook his head. He had been so embarrassed sending that sad excuse for an owl, but he couldn't help but look at him fondly. This was heightened by the surge of excitement Hermione was feeling, knowing she had finally gotten another letter.

She had been afraid that the boys had forgotten her as nearly two weeks went by without any word, when Errol arrived with his first message. It had been written in Ron's large, looping letters, a style she suspected (correctly, Ron was forced to admit) he had adopted to take up as much parchment as possible. The letter had been a bit stilted, but she had decided to pass that off, thinking that Ron was unlikely to have written to many people before. She was surprised to hear that Harry hadn't been answering any of his letters, and had wondered if she had heard from him. She had instantly written an answer, plus another letter to send along to Harry.

Ron's second letter came faster, and with it, some of the stiffness had worn off. They talked about summer plans, and Hermione learned more about his younger sister Ginny, who would be starting Hogwarts in the autumn. She could tell by the way he wrote about her that they were close, although she knew he would probably never admit it. The thought of meeting Ginny excited her, and she hoped they could be friends. Percy was easy enough to get along with, since he was set on following the rules and loved to revise, and was more than willing to pass on useful revision information. And Fred and George, while it was true that they were a bit loud and wild, they were also generally good-natured and could always be counted on to cheer you up when you were down. All in all, she had yet to meet a Weasley she didn't like, and couldn't imagine Ginny being any different. Of course, Ron was her favorite Weasley, but she brushed that off. Why wouldn't he be? He was one of her best friends, after all, and the one she knew best. Who knows, maybe she would get on even better with Ginny.

Her eyes scanned rapidly over the page, her brow furrowing in concern. There had still been no word from Harry, and both she and Ron were very worried. She was keenly aware, from things Harry had let drop, that while his family didn't actually physically abuse him, the emotional abuse and neglect were just as bad. From the way Ron would shift around uncomfortably, he knew it, too. She had been terribly proud of him at Christmas, in fact. Even though he had had the chance to visit one of his brothers and see dragons (something she knew he would have dearly loved to have done), he had stayed behind, knowing Harry would be alone. He had even been thoughtful enough to mention to Mrs. Weasely that Harry wouldn't be getting gifts, in time for her to do something about it. She had wanted to tell him how wonderful she thought that was, but even as inexperienced as she was in having friends, she knew he would be disgusted at being called 'sweet.' She had wanted to stay too, but that wouldn't have been fair to her parents, who had worried so much about her. Hopefully, this Christmas would be better.

Ron grimaced. No, there was no way his twelve year old self would have reacted well to being called sweet. And if the twins had heard, his life wouldn't have been worth living. Still, knowing that she had noticed and admired him for what he had done warmed his heart, as did the memory of Harry's face Christmas morning. At the time, he hadn't thought of it as anything special, but he now realized just how important moments like that were for a kid, especially ones like Harry, who had very few of them.

Hermione gave a little hop of pleasure as she read the last few lines; not only was there a plan to get Harry, but Ron had mentioned that his family was going to be in Diagon Alley in two days to buy school supplies, and had asked Hermione if she wanted to meet them there. She flew from the room, nothing like her usual sedate pace when indoors, to ask permission. This year was looking up; the list of textbooks sounded interesting, and she already had been invited to do something with friends, which was a first for her. Yes, this year would be even better than the last. They could settle down to a nice routine, and not have to worry about things like monsters and evil. Everything would go smoothly, she was sure of it.

"Trelawney was right." Ron chuckled. You really are piss poor at divination."

He nearly stumbled over himself as he stepped through the door of the Granger's library and into Flourish and Blotts, Hermione's curly hair bobbing up and down beside him as she tried to see through the crowd. She was breathless with anticipation, books clutched to her chest, only half paying attention to the boy next to her.

With amusement, Ron saw the first flickers of what would later grow to be jealousy flash across his face. At the time he had put it down to annoyance at how witches were so easily taken in by the smooth git, unwilling to think too deeply on why Hermione's reaction bothered him more than others. He grinned, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Finally, he was going to have the truth about her little crush on Lockhart, ammunition he planned to use later to tease her mercilessly, blithely forgetting that Hermione was probably stockpiling ammo of her own.

The line was moving far too slowly for Hermione; she couldn't wait to get her books signed! She had read them all several times this summer, thrilled at the daring exploits that the blond man described. He had gone to so many interesting places, discovered so many wonderful things! But what really, really impressed Hermione the most was the fact that he had written books. She was about to meet an actual author, and the thought caused a giddy giggle to escape her throat. She noticed Ron's sour look, and rolled her eyes. Didn't he understand? He would be the same way if it was a Quidditch star in front of him. She only hoped she was there when he finally met one, so she could give him an equally hard time.

She almost did a cartwheel when Lockhart announced that he would be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Her joy was short-lived, however, when she saw that Harry and Ron were moving away. Leaving her parents to pay, she followed them, her nose wrinkling in disgust when Malfoy showed up and began to taunt Harry. Any hope that his father would put a stop to it died as he caustically insulted the Weasley family, and anger bubbled up in her at the hard looks that fixed themselves on the faces of Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny. However, the expression Ron wore upset her the most. It was because of people like this that he felt as if he was somehow lacking, that nurtured the insecurity she knew he tried to hide under his sharp words and sarcastic humor. She despised the unfairness that let someone like the Malfoys stand there as if they were to be admired and envied, while Ron was made to feel ashamed for being part of one of the most amazing families Hermione had ever met. She laid a supportive had on Ginny's shoulder as attention was turned to her. Hermione wasn't the type of person who hated people easily, but when she did, the flames were hot and strong, and it was only a matter of time before someone got burned. So when the fight broke out between Lucius Malfoy and Mr. Weasley, Hermione inwardly cheered.

Ron was more than just a bit amazed. Not at the intensity of her dislike for the Malfoys. That was old news, and he knew how vicious she could be when riled. No, what struck him now was the warm, protective feeling she had for his family. And it wasn't just the members she already knew. She had paid careful attention to the things he had said and written about them, and Hermione had developed a strong admiration for them. He wished he had known, back then, that for once, someone was looking at his family as a reflection of him. Hermione had traced back anything praiseworthy he had ever mentioned about them, and compared it to what she knew of him. With her, he was no longer in the shadow of his siblings. He was thought of first, and the rest had to live up to him. He had wanted so badly to be thought of as their equal, that he had completely missed the fact that to others, he was worthwhile in himself. Hermione didn't think of him as the Weasley's youngest son, or Bill's less clever little brother. To her, his family had to be special, because it was his, and that was what automatically drew her to them in the first place. The feelings intensified as she got to know them better, but the foundation had been built on her feelings and opinions of him. He could tell that she wasn't even really aware of that fact, as she made herself a mental promise to make sure that Ron's sister didn't have to deal with anything like this on the trip to school.

He couldn't help smiling as she planned to see that Ginny settled in smoothly, although he felt guilty at her thought that she didn't want Ginny to feel as lost and alone as she did the first few months. Hermione stepped out the door, and he followed, finding himself on Platform 9 3/4.

Hermione was impatient. She had already said goodbye to her parents and loaded her trunk. Now she was pacing back and forth, stealing glances at her watch as she waited for her friends to arrive. Surely nothing could have happened. She huffed in frustration. Everyone from their year in Gryffindor had already gotten seats on the train. She had saved a compartment, but she didn't know how long that would last if she didn't get back. There were only a few late stragglers left, and if they didn't hurry, then-a flash of red in the thinning crowd got her attention, and she looked up to find a herd of Weasleys barreling towards her. The twins swooped by, cackling loudly at their flustered mother, while Percy scurried along behind them, trying to retain his dignity. Ginny was red-faced and struggling with her trunk, and Hermione rushed to help her. In the flurry of goodbyes and promises to write, she didn't realize they were two short until the train began to move.

"Wait, where's Harry and Ron?" She asked, whirling to face Ginny.

The younger girl regarded her with widening eyes. "Weren't they behind us?"

Hermione darted to the nearest window, straining to get a look at the station before it was out of sight. She could make out Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, but there was no sign of a lanky ginger and his short, shaggier companion.

"Do you see them?" Ginny asked hopefully, much more assertive without the presence of Harry.

"No. I don't understand! They aren't back there, and it would have been impossible for them to get on without us seeing them!"

Before Ginny could reply, the door of the compartment flew open, and the twins staggered in under the weight of their trunks.

"Sorry, but since everywhere else is all full up-" panted George.

"Would you mind if we stow our stuff in here with you?" Finished Fred, already moving their belongings to the luggage rack.

Ron gazed at his lost brother hungrily, soaking up every second. He had caught bits and flashes from Hermione's earlier memories, but this was the first time he had ever gotten to focus on Fred. He and George looked so young and carefree, unaware that their time as an inseparable duo was ticking down, the smile on Fred's face eerily similar to the one he would wear last.

"Have you two seen Ron and Harry? We don't think they got on the train." Ginny asked her brothers.

Fred and George exchanged looks of surprise.

"Weren't they right behind us at the station?"

"I'm sure they were. I heard Hedwig squawking right before Breathe in.

we made it onto the platform."

"Well, they aren't here now! What if something happened to them?" Hermione asked, clearly frustrated.

Fred waved a hand dismissively. "What could happen to them here? Besides, Mum and Dad are back there. They'll be able to sort it out."

"Not that I envy them having to deal with Mum if they did miss the train." George added, both of them shuddering.

"I suppose so...it's just that the two of them can be so reckless, especially since-"

"Especially since their common sense is on the train without them?" A grinning George interrupted.

Hermione couldn't help smiling at the accuracy of his statement. "Well, yes. Who knows what they could get up to, without me there to nag them into submission?"

The four of them laughed, each plopping into a seat.

"Why are you two in here, anyway? I thought you would be off with Lee." Ginny asked curiously.

They smirked, and Fred answered, "Our dear friend is, at this very moment, chatting up a bird. We thought we would give him a little privacy, since-"

"Our charms might completely ensnare the girl and overshadow Lee."

Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes at each other, shaking their heads. To keep herself from worrying any more than she already was, Hermione asked a question she had been wondering about.

"Ron told me that there was a plan to get Harry, but he never had time to tell me what happened. Did everything go alright?"

The twins launched into a lively retelling of their exploits, with Ginny tossing in a comment here and there. Ron watched as her face took on the expression he had come to call Standard Look of Disapproval, level two. Her eyes had gone all bright and beady, and her mouth was a straight, thin line, her nostrils flaring slightly. That look had exasperated him when he was younger, but it was just so...Hermione. Nowadays, he rarely did anything to warrant that particular look, although he still earned it's several variations.

"I can't believe-well, yes I can- but do you have any idea how much trouble you could have gotten into?" She huffed.

"Precisely why we did it, dear girl! At first we thought Ron was exaggerating the situation, but I must say, the car came in handy when we had to remove the bars from Harry's window." Said Fred.

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, her face going pale.

"Bars." She said flatly.

"Yeah, bars. They matched the nice little cat flap in his door that they used to shove his food through. When they bothered feeding him." George added, his tone grim and no longer joking.

Hermione did her best to contain her rage. For the first time, she was glad she hadn't been able to go along. Because she knew that whatever she would have done when she saw what was going on wouldn't have been pretty, indeed it wouldn't. And what if the twins hadn't believed Ron, and had decided not to help? Well, Ron would have gone alone of course, there was no question about that. If there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he didn't stand about and do nothing when a friend was in trouble. It would have been much harder, though.

"Forget what I said. I'm glad you did it, and I wouldn't blame you if you do it next year as well." She said harshly.

"Would you mind explaining that to Mum?" Quipped George.

"Maybe he should just stay at the Burrow for the summer." Suggested Ginny, blushing.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "He's not a dog, Gin. You can't ask Mum if we can keep him just because he followed us home."

"I don't see why not! We kept the pair of you, didn't we?" She snapped, eyes flashing.

The twins gasped in falsely affronted dignity, causing Hermione to laugh. Oh yes, she was going to like Ginny. Maybe because she reminded her so much of Ron...

She gazed out the window, hoping they were alright. And praying that this wasn't how the rest of the year would go, with the two of them going off and leaving her behind.

Ron blinked at how much that thought bothered her. She was still a bit uneasy in their friendship, nervous that they would become bored with her, or grow tired of putting up with her. He wished he could tell her that they had never even thought of that. Even during the times when they had all been mad at each other and not speaking, Ron had still been unable to think of her as anything less than a friend. Of course, that made him even madder, but still. Chucking Hermione had never been an option.

Time skipped along, and he was brought to the next memory, where he and Hermione were walking across the grounds in the direction of the Quidditch pitch to watch Harry practice.

"I still say we should have finished our homework first. We were almost done." Hermione sighed.

Ron walked backwards in front of her, throwing his hands out, wildly gesturing around them. "Look, Hermione. Y'know what that is? Sunlight! Fresh air! I know it doesn't have the same allure as the smell of moldy books, but look on the bright side, it's healthy!"

Hermione shook her head, reaching out to grab him by the arm and steer him around a dip in the ground.

"Not very healthy if you trip and break something, and we end up in the hospital wing."

Ron fell back in step beside her, the scarf he had carelessly tossed across his shoulders flapping in the wind. "Wouldn't happen. My keen coordination and lightning fast reflexes would've kicked in." He said loftily.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then why did I have to move you out of the way?"

He grinned at her. "That was delegating."

They both snickered, bumping their shoulders into each other.

"'Sides, it would just be me that had to go back. You could still go watch Harry."

This made her snort. "Honestly, Ron. Do you really think I would leave you to watch a practice if you were hurt?"

Ron pretended to ponder that. "Nah, I don't reckon you would...it would be a lot quieter to read in there with me, wouldn't it?" He said slyly.

Hermione laughed. These were her favorite moments, when they could playfully bicker, with nothing serious to weigh them down. When it was just the three of them, or just her and Ron, he seemed more at ease, less worried about what people were thinking about him.

The Gryffindor team still hadn't arrived at the pitch. They found some seats and got comfortable, Ron sharing the bread and marmalade he had smuggled out. They seemed to have arrived before Harry, and she was just wondering if it would be rude to pull a book out of her bag, when Harry showed up. She repressed a sigh at being told they hadn't even started yet; it was a good thing she was at least three assignments ahead on all her work, because it looked like they would be out here for hours. Ron, who had been commenting on the flying, cut off in mid-sentence. She turned her head to see what he was looking at, and groaned. Of all times, the Slytherins would choose now to show up for practice! And it looked as if there was going to be a confrontation. She and Ron didn't bother saying anything, only sharing a look of agreement before rushing down to the large group.

As they hurried along, Hermione pondered when they had begun to understand each other so well. For all the little arguments they got into, they had an uncanny knack for being able to connect. It made her...happy. she liked having that closeness with Ron. She found comfort in it, as if as long as they were able to do that, they would always be able to get things right between them, no matter how mad they got.

She had been right, a fight was brewing. And, surprise surprise, Harry was in the thick of it. And he couldn't seem to just stay quiet and-oh. Oh really? Had Malfoy just said-well, she had something to say on the subject herself!

She could tell her remark had hit home, stinging all the more because it was true. The next words out of his mouth were foul, and left her a bit stunned. The word was unfamiliar to her, and she jerked back at the venom behind it. She hadn't encountered quite this level of hostility since coming to Hogwarts, and it shocked her. Though she didn't know exactly what it meant, she suspected it had something to do with the fact that she didn't come from a family of wizards and witches. It was a sharp reminder that she didn't truly belong here, and for a brief moment, she was transported back to her old life before she was a witch.

But then the other Gryffindors roared to life around her, and for once, she wasn't going to have to face this alone. Angelina and Katie were hissing like cats, and Fred and George looked as if they were about to tear Draco in half. Harry was angry, but he looked confused, too, and Hermione knew he didn't fully understand the level of the insult. All of this was overshadowed by Ron, who was almost maroon with rage. She had never seen him this angry before. What he did next happened so fast, she didn't have time to protest. In the blink of an eye he had raised his wand, snarling a hex at Malfoy. She heard herself cry out as it rebounded and knocked him flat, her legs moving her in his direction before he had even hit the ground.

Ron shook his head, still able to taste the horrid things after all these years. Attacking with a broken wand had been one of his less brilliant moves. And why, oh why, couldn't he have picked something that tasted better? Or at least wasn't quite so slimy?

She tried to keep herself from crying as she hovered over him, anxious to figure out what was wrong with him. She was so relieved that it wasn't anything life-threatening that she didn't even pull away in disgust as the first of the slugs flew from his mouth. She was dimly aware of what was going on around her, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Ron.

Well, he thought, shifting at the uncomfortable feeling of adoration towards...himself, who could take their eyes off of someone puking up slugs?

Hermione felt peculiar. Her mind was all fuzzy, yet sharp at the same time. Ron Weasely, the same boy that teased her and tried to wheedle her into doing his homework for him, had just defended her with a broken wand and was now suffering the embarrassment for it. She knew he hated using the wand, how sick it made him when others laughed at him when it messed up. He had been so stoic about it, knowing his family couldn't afford to get him a new one, and she had felt horrid about it. She had even tried to find a spell that would fix wands, but had had no luck. But as much as he hated it, he hadn't hesitated to use it on Malfoy. For her. Oh, he hadn't been playing at being a knight in shining armor; they both knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself. But he had stood up for her anyway, not because he had to, but because he wanted to, and Hermione knew in that moment that she would always be able to count on Ron, no matter how many times they annoyed each other, or how often they fought. As soon as she got the chance, she promised herself, she would find a way to tell him that he didn't have to worry about living up to his family. As far as she was concerned, he had just set a standard that anyone else would have to work very hard to reach.

Ron felt the world spin, but it had nothing to do with the shifting between memories. She had tried to tell him. He had felt so bleeding stupid for messing up in front of so many people, he just wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. She had thanked him, and was starting to stammer something else out, but he wouldn't let her talk, brushing her aside and trying to change the subject. When she made another attempt, he had snapped at her, and she had gone quiet, and had left it alone. At the time that had relieved him, but now he wished he had just let her talk. He suspected, with a sinking feeling, that he was going to find a lot more instances when he should have listened to what she had to say.

The next instant, he was following himself and Hermione down a hallway, both of them scuttling along in a furtive manner that screamed of illicit activities, their faces a dead giveaway to the nature of their mission.

"You might even say that we were...up to...something." he said, in a dead accurate imitation of their former potions master. He followed them on the familiar path to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, noting that even though Hermione was sixth months older, he was already outstripping her in the height department. He had actually been the tallest in their year, but it was more obvious to him from his new vantage point.

Hermione paused outside the door, darting her eyes in both directions before ducking in. Ron lingered, and she reached back, yanking him in with a yelp.

"I've told you already, Ron! No one else ever comes in here."

"Well excuse me all over for not being entirely comfortable with prancing into the girl's loo." He grumbled, slouching along to the stall that held the cauldron.

"I don't think I've ever seen you prance." She mused, removing the 'borrowed' ingredients from her robes, setting them up neatly.

"And you're not going to any time soon, if these are the type of places you're going to keep dragging me."

She shrugged as she opened the book to read over the instructions once more. "Sorry. You don't have to stay. It's just easier with two people." Her shoulders tensed; she hoped he wouldn't leave, because despite what she said, she hated being in the dank, cold room alone.

Ron sighed, setting up the mortar and pestle, making sure that the knife they had brought would be sharp enough. "I'm not going to leave you to do it all by yourself, though Merlin knows you could."

Relaxing, she bent over to check the temperature of the flames. "You're perfectly capable, as long as you pay attention. If you would relax and take your time, you would do much better in lessons."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because it's so easy to relax with a great greasy buzzard flapping around the room, just waiting to peck my eyes out."

"It's not that bad. Besides, it isn't you he has it in for, it's Harry."

Blue eyes regarded her warily. "Hermione, I grew up with Fred and George, remember? I know all about guilt by association."

She frowned. "I suppose you have a point. Here, follow the instructions and cut these up, will you?"

Busying herself with measuring out some of the other ingredients, it took her a few minutes to become aware of Ron staring at her. What was wrong with him? Had she come across as too bossy?

"What is it?"

He finally looked away, motioning to the complicated page of instructions. "How do you bloody do it? There's so many fiddley little things to keep straight!"

A flush heated her cheeks at his awed tone. "Well, I don't look at it all at once. I focus on one step at a time."

Ron shook his head in admiration. "This isn't a standard second year potion though. Lot's of people older than you couldn't pull it off. I can't figure out how you didn't get Sorted into Ravenclaw."

"The Hat actually thought about putting me in there, at first." She admitted, looking up to find him goggling at her.

"Then how did you end up in Gryffindor? Not that I'm not glad, or anything, but..." he trailed off, obviously not knowing what else to say.

"It...gave me a choice. It said I would fit in fine in Ravenclaw, but I would find myself in Gryffindor. I assumed it had a good reason to tell me that, so I made my choice."

"So, did you ever figure out what it meant? He asked curiously, the sound of his knife thudding steadily against the stone floor as he chopped.

"Um, no, I'm still not quite sure." She lied. She was almost positive that it had been Harry and Ron, finding people who would accept her as she was, but that sounded a bit pathetic, didn't it? She didn't think he would understand the aching feeling of never belonging, the constant need that drove her to prove herself.

Which, of course, was entirely wrong, as Ron could have told her. The feelings he was sharing with her now were nothing new to him. Though his reasons had been different, the results were the same, and he could now better appreciate the way she had thrown herself into her work, that she had seen it as the one quality she possessed that really mattered.

"Besides," she said to distract him, "what would you and Harry have done if I had been put in Gryffindor? Who would have helped you with your essays then?"

Ron looked taken aback for a moment, as if he sensed an underlying current to that remark. "Hey, that's not...we don't...you know that that isn't why me and Harry hang out with you, right?" He asked earnestly.

"Of course not." She answered, but he didn't seem to believe her, for he plowed on.

"Because it's not, alright? We wouldn't be around you so much if we didn't, you know, like you, okay?" He babbled, his ears turning a deep pink.

Hermione beamed at him, but took pity on his obvious discomfort. She knew Ron, like most boys his age, had a strict limit of how openly emotional they could get, and he had passed his daily allotment.

"Let's hurry, alright? Then we can get back to the Common Room, and I'll let you beat me at a game of chess."

A smirk formed on his lips, his eyes twinkling. "Let me beat you? Please. We both know the only way that will happen is when I'm too old and dotty to remember how to play."

Hermione stuck her tongue out. But inside, she thought that sounded quite nice, the fact that he expected her to still be around when they were old. It sounded...right, the two of them still being together. She gave a guilty start. Three. Of course she meant the three of them. How could she have possibly forgotten Harry?

"How indeed?" Ron muttered from his corner of the cubicle, sifting through her emotions. It wasn't love, at least not the romantic kind, but there was a great deal of strong affection, and it was already on the cusp of changing from the way she regarded Harry, even if she was unaware of it. What would be the tipping point? He had no idea, but he was eager to find out.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was barely beginning to peek over the horizon as the tall boy crept out onto the porch, stealthily making his way to the small enclosure where the owls nested. The only sound was the sleepy clucking of the chickens as they exited the coop, and Ron breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing he was nearly home free. It was a pain to have to sneak around like this, but ever since the twins found out he had been owling Hermione, they had taken the mickey out of him something fierce. What was the bloody big deal that one of his best friends was a girl? It's not like the twins didn't have girls for friends, like Angelina and Katie. And they had talked to Hermione enough times, too, and they had liked her well enough then. Besides, she wasn't just any girl. She was...Hermione. sort of in a category all her own, really.

He poked Errol awake, the owl gazing at him blearily. Ron felt a bit bad for sending him out, but Percy refused to let him use Hermes. "Alright, Errol. I need you to take this to Hermione. Try not to pass out before you get there." He ordered, tying the letter to the outstretched leg.

Errol hopped out, and Ron held his breath as he took off, wincing when the owl failed to gain enough height to clear one of the trees it the yard, the branch knocking him off course. With a few flaps of the wings he straightened out, beginning the now familiar route to Hermione's. Ron smiled. Success! He had manged to send off a message without the twins around for once, and he turned to go back inside, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Hermione groaned as Ron choked back a yelp at the sight of Fred and George leaning in the doorway, wicked smirks on their faces. She had never given any consideration to what his family might have thought when he started writing her, but knowing the twins, she shouldn't have been surprised.

"Gooood morning, Ronniekins! Fancied a stroll before breakfast?" George drawled.

Fred snickered. "Or was it something else? Another love letter to Granger, perhaps?"

Ron felt his face heat up, but managed to contain his temper. This was mild by their standards, and at least they weren't making kissy faces yet.

"Piss off!" He growled, shoving past them into the house, where he heard his mum in the kitchen starting breakfast. He went in to sit at the table, knowing they would have to tone it down in front of her. That didn't stop them from trooping in after him, biding their time. He shrugged. At least they would be easier to deal with once he had a full stomach.

The rest of his family began to trickle in as the house filled with the smell of frying eggs and sizzling sausage. First his father, who kissed his mother on the cheek before reaching for the Prophet, already immersed in an article before he had even sat down. Then Percy, already dressed and with his hair neatly combed, looking disgustingly chipper for this early in the morning. Ginny was the last one down, stumbling into the room still in her nightgown, scowling at everyone seated at the table. Being used to this, no one made any comment. No one said anything to her at all; Ginny was not a morning person, and her temper was rather volatile before she had her first piece of toast and a glass of juice.

Breakfast in the Weasley household was a rushed affair, everyone in a hurry to get their day started as quickly as possible. His mum finished first, and went out back to tend to the chickens and check one of the goats that had been looking sickly. His dad was next, glancing at his watch with a guilty start before fleeing in the direction of the fireplace, nearly five minutes late. Percy sighed at this, but for once said nothing, instead muttering something about needing to look in on his owl before leaving the room. The twins pushed their empty plates away, grinning. This was the moment they had been waiting for.

"So, Fred. Do you think Hermione is swooning over Ron's letter about now, girlish heart all aflutter?" George asked, as if Ron wasn't sitting directly across from him.

Fred pretended to ponder his question. "Well, actually, no. He did use Errol, after all. He might not get their until the birth of their first child."

Hermione laughed. George had always insisted that he and Fred had known Hermione would be the girl for Ron right from the start. She supposed this was proof, although she was surprised that Ron hadn't ended up avoiding her out of self defense.

"Besides," Fred continued. "I'm not sure that Hermione is the swooning type. Can't really picture her saving Ron's letters in her knicker drawer, can you?"

Hermione blushed. Actually, she had saved all of the letters he had ever written. She had kept them in a small box in her wardrobe.

"Oh, I don't know. She seems rather fond of the written word. It would probably depend on how good they were. Did you write anything nice and steamy?" He addressed the last bit to Ron, whose ears lit up.

"You would know. It was the same as the last two you sneaked a look at." Ron bit out shortly. It was hard to hold his tongue, but he needed their help with Harry, and he wasn't willing to risk ticking them off. Yet.

They had the good grace to look abashed. "Sorry Ron, that was out of line. No more tampering with the post." Fred promised.

"To make up for it, we'll teach you a few romantic poems that you might like to send-" George added, but was cut off by a sharp kick on the shin from Ginny.

"Knock it off, you two. You're just jealous because neither one of you has ever got a girl to write to you." She sneered, taking her plate and stacking it in the sink.

Ron repressed a grin. Her remark had left the twins sputtering and speechless, another reason why she was his favorite sister. Deciding that this was the best moment to retreat, he slipped out of the room and began climbing the staircase, Ginny trotting along behind him, all the way up to his room. She shut the door behind her, plopping down at the foot of his bed. The room was warm and stuffy, so he crossed to the window, opening it with a firm yank, grunting as it stuck before finally rising all the way. He joined her on the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard, long legs drawn up with his arms resting on his knees.

"You know, I wasn't going to say anything in front of Fred and George, but I was pretty surprised to hear you were friends with a girl, much less a swotty one."

"She's not really swotty...well, alright, she is." Ron amended at her skeptical look. "But she's not like Percy, you know? She doesn't think she's better than everyone because she's smart." He explained thoughtfully.

Ginny rolled onto her side to look up at him. "So she never makes you feel stupid?"

Ron had to think a moment. "Sure, all the time. But she doesn't mean to, and I don't think she even knows she's doing it."

Hermione blinked back tears. She had never meant to make anyone feel bad about themselves, especially Ron. She had just never believed in false modesty. Yes, she was smart. It was a fact, the way Ron was tall, or Harry wore glasses. Learning that she had played a part (however unwittingly) in Ron's insecurities was disheartening.

So far, his description of Hermione hadn't really impressed Ginny. "So, how did you end up with her, anyway? I know a troll was involved somehow, but was that before or after you were friends?"

The tips of Ron's ears gave him away, his eyes not meeting hers as he traced a large black 'C' on his quilt. Remembering his treatment of pre-troll Hermione always brought a faint sense of shame.

"Um, well, the troll came right after I said something that may have been a bit...rude." he admitted.

Ginny, knowing him as well as she did, saw right through him. "How rude is 'a bit'?"

"I don't remember, exactly." He stalled, then continued when she narrowed her eyes, "alright, I called her a nightmare and said she didn't have any friends. In front of a lot of people. Ouch!" He yelped when Ginny punched his shin.

"You prat! I'm surprised she even spoke to you after that!"

Ron shrugged. "The whole troll thing happened a few hours later, and after that...I guess it didn't matter any more."

Ginny looked like she was thinking about punching him again, and he hastily shifted his legs out of the way.

"Let me guess; you never bothered to tell her you were sorry. Honestly, you need to learn when to suck it up and apologize! Someday you're going to regret it if you don't."

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you, Mum."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Then I'll reserve judgment on her until I meet her for myself, although I almost have to believe that on top of being a genius, she must be a saint as well."

Ron cocked his head. What was she on about? "A saint? What for?"

"For putting up with you, of course!" She grinned cheekily, smacking his foot away when he attempted to kick her in the shoulder.

A muffled explosion from the direction of the twins' room drew their attention, but then they both relaxed when it was followed by silence. Ron was just thankful that whatever they were up to, at least this time they wouldn't have to evacuate.

"Hey, Ron?" Ginny asked quietly, her gaze trained on the ceiling.

"Hm?" He answered, already suspecting by her blush what subject she was preparing to bring up. Try as he might, he just couldn't understand his sister's fixation with Harry.

"What's Harry Potter like? I mean, really." She finally asked, her face redder than his ears had been moments ago.

He groaned. "Ginny, he's just Harry. His shit stinks just like everyone else's."

She scrunched her nose, her scattering of freckles getting lost in the wrinkles. "Lovely, Ron. I won't ask how you know that."

It was strange, he thought, how everyone always made a big deal over Harry for something that had happened to him as a baby. Of course, Ron supposed he had been just as bad before he met him. But Harry really was just like anyone else, for the most part. And then Hermione, who was probably the most brilliant witch at Hogwarts, was pretty much ignored. Again, he had been the same way before he got to know her. Which was a shame, because once you got her nose out of a book, she was actually quite fun to be around, even when you riled her up. Sometimes especially when you riled her up.

"So, would you say Hermione's shit stinks too?" Ginny asked, bringing him out of his musings.

Ron snorted, then said in a bossy tone, "How crude! You would say, her fecal matter gives off a foul odor."

Ginny stared at him a moment before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Ooooh, I can't wait to tell her that!" She chortled.

His stomach lurched. Bloody hell, Hermione would kill him!

"You wouldn't." He pleaded.

"I would." She affirmed, standing up.

He scrambled to the edge of the bed, reaching out for her arm, just missing it as she twisted away.

"Come on, you wouldn't want your favorite brother to get his bits hexed off, would you?"

She laughed at his whining, dancing away as he lunged for her. "Of course not, but why would Hermione want to hex Bill?"

That, he felt, was certainly uncalled for! He chased her as she ran out of his room and down the stairs, their feet thumping on the risers.

Hermione followed them as they burst out of the front door, but instead of the front lawn of the Burrow, she found herself to be on the grounds of Hogwarts, the back of the castle visible in the distance. Most people were outside, taking advantage of the rare warm weather before the cold months set in. The three of them were in a fairly out of the way location, with only a handful of other students nearby. Most of them were being taken in by one of the twins' favorite tricks; they were standing behind a small section of stone wall left over from some bygone era, taking turns popping out on either side. Younger kids were laying bets as to which twin it was, with Lee taking their money and doling it out to the winners, the rare times one of them got it right.

Ron shook his head. Mum would have a fit if she knew half of the things they got up to, but a keen sense of self preservation made it a sure thing that she wouldn't be finding out from him. Although if she did find out, she would probably find a way to blame him for not stopping them. He snorted. As if anyone could stop the Twin Terrors, much less him.

He glanced to his left, where Harry had fallen asleep, his messy hair covered in blades of grass. Hermione was to his right, nose buried in a book. She had said this one was for 'pleasure.' How a book could be considered 'pleasurable' when it was thicker than one of Hagrid's poundcakes Ron would never know. Her head was bent low, her hair obscuring her face, but Ron knew the expression she was probably wearing anyway. There was a look of complete and utter concentration she got only when she was reading, more intent even than the one she usually had for the professors. Actually, it was because of her he had suggested they come out this far, though he hadn't told her or Harry that. Harry would most likely go along, but he figured Hermione would say he was being ridiculous.

But he wasn't. At least, no more than usual. At this vantage point, they could see whoever was coming near them from any direction, which suited Ron just fine, he thought, his eyes scanning about for any sign of the slithery snake. He had never liked Malfoy, and thought that his dislike couldn't possibly get stronger. He had been proven wrong the moment the foul little git had said what he had about Hermione. Ron had a temper, a bad one, he knew, but the urge to cause someone physical harm had never been as strong as it had that day. The thought scared him a little, but he brushed it off. Besides, it wasn't as if his curse had even worked. The humiliation had been even worse than the slugs. Now everyone probably thought a Squib could throw a better curse. Bloody wand! And then Hermione had tried to thank him, which, in a way, had only made it worse. He had just wanted to forget the whole thing, but she wouldn't let it go, until he had finally snapped at her. A hurt look had crossed her eyes before she had changed the subject, and he had felt more wretched than one of the slugs he had been spewing from his mouth. The one time she had praised him for something, and he had bitten her head off! Then again, she had probably only said it because she felt sorry for him.

"Honestly!" Hermione growled from where she had seated herself across from him. She was beginning to think that his abysmal self esteem was accountable for nearly half of their fights.

Ron was pulled from his thoughts when the twins and Lee wandered over to sit with them, counting out their take so they could divide it up. He watched the small pile of coins click together enviously. If there was one thing he wished he could share in common with his brothers, it would be their uncanny way of turning a profit. Hearing a delicate snort, he turned to find Hermione regerding the three boys with narrow eyes. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable lecture. Not that it would do any good. Years of dealing with their mum had made them immune to anyone else who tried to reign them in. So he was baffled when he heard her say,

"Don't you think George should get the larger share? After all, he did most of the work."

The twins stopped counting, instead trading a look before goggling at Hermione.

"What are you talking about?" George asked in a strange voice. "Lee handled the money, and Fred and I pranced around the wall so they could guess who was who. Three way split, all fair."

"No, Fred sat on the other side the whole time. It was only you who ever showed himself." Hermione said calmly.

Lee threw his head back in a laugh. "I don't believe it! How on earth did you figure it out? I couldn't even tell them apart until last year, and sometimes I still get it wrong, they look so much alike."

Hermione shrugged. "Not really, if you look closely."

"You must be looking in strange places, Hermione, because they take great pleasure in showing us exactly how identical they are in the dorms." Yawned Harry, having been awakened by the noise.

Ron was interested to know the answer himself. Hardly anyone outside of their family could tell them apart on a good day, and it was near impossible when they made an effort to fool you.

Closing her book, Hermione looked from one twin to the other. "It's easy. Just look in the eyes. The person looking out of George's eyes will always be George, and the person looking out of Fred's eyes will always be Fred."

He could tell that his brothers were stunned. As much fun as they had tricking people, he knew that there was always a slight amount of hurt when people confused the two of them. Judging by the way they were now looking at Hermione, she had definitely gained a new level of respect.

Before anyone could speak, Hermione stood abruptly. "Drat. I finished my book, and forgot to bring another one. I'll be right back after I change it at the library."

Harry stood also, brushing the grass out of his shaggy locks. "I'll walk with you. I needed to get something to drink anyway."

The pair of them started off, and Ron moved to follow, but was pulled back by Fred's grip on his arm.

"You know, Ron, we may have given you too much of a hard time about her. She's actually wicked." Fred said pensively, George nodding along with him.

"Right. She's definitely got our stamp of approval." George added, slapping him on the back. "So, when it comes time for you to declare your undying love, we'll be there to help make sure that you don't bollock it-"

"Sod off!" He mumbled, shoving his brothers' arms from around him and trotting to catch up to his friends. Couldn't they go five minutes without being ridiculous? Still, the fact that they had taken to Hermione like that said a lot. It took someone really special to get the twins to acknowledge them. He grinned, as he fell into place next to Hermione. His brothers may have figured out how amazing she was.

But he had figured it out first. And, for reasons that he couldn't quite explain, it made him feel really good.

Hermione followed along, mulling over what she had just watched. It was true; around this time the twins had started being quite brotherly towards her. That didn't stop them from teasing her, or even always listening to her, but there was a new fondness to it, and they always became protective whenever she was in trouble. Not to the extent Ron did, but it was still appreciated. And Ron...he definitely wasn't in love with her right now, but the feelings he had for her were strong, just waiting to be pushed in the right direction. What that push may be she still didn't know, but the path to finding out was quite enlightening.

Following them inside, she found herself once more in the common room, and from the darkened sky outside the window, she could tell it was fairly late at night.

Ron was sitting in the common room with Hermione, the only sound the crackle of the fire in front of them. There was a somber air that neither one was showing signs of breaking. He supposed there was a time when the situation would make him uncomfortable, but now, it was just the opposite. With all of the strange things going on, Hermione's sensible nature had a calming effect. The recent attack on Colin had scared them both, and, silently communicating over Harry's head, they had hung back when their friend had gone up to bed.

"This is going to get really bad, isn't it." Hermione stated quietly, startling Ron with the suddeness of the sound.

He wanted to tell her that, no, things would be taken care of quickly and that they had nothing to worry about, but he couldn't quite bring his mouth to form the words. Maybe it was his natural cynicism, but he had never been one to sugarcoat things, at least not when he couldn't even fool himself into believing them.

"Yeah. Yeah, I reckon it is." He said steadily, belying the fear that tightened his chest.

They were sitting on one of the sofas their backs to each arm, facing each other with their knees drawn up. Hermione's light blue pajama set looked a size or two too big, while his ankles were left bare by the maroon and white striped trousers he wore. This position made it easy to talk in low voices, though the size of his feet made it impossible to keep from touching. Her worried eyes stared back at him, unsurprised by his words.

"Ron," she began slowly, "I don't know if it's the same here, but in the Muggle world, people who start off with animals, and then move up to smaller, weaker victims are usually considered-"

"Really sick. I know." He said thickly.

Oh, he knew, alright. The year before he had come to Hogwarts, one of the boys from the village had set a cat on fire. The twins had sprung into action, managing to put it out fairly quickly, earning both of them deep scratches on their arms from the pain crazed animal. Ron had tried to keep Ginny from seeing what was happening, but she managed to get a look, and he had had to hold onto her while she sobbed. She had insisted they take the poor thing home, and George had wrapped it in his shirt, the pitiful yowls that it let out the whole walk home the only sign that it was still alive.

Mum had been able to save it, though it lost half of an ear, and patches of it's fur never grew back. Surprisingly, it had been the twins that fought to keep it; Ron had asked them why. Fred had told him, surprisingly seriously, that the cat was a reminder. He and George loved to pull pranks, but there was a line between joking around and deliberately setting out to hurt something, and this was the result of crossing that line. George had darkly added that it was the first step down a nasty path, and Ron hadn't fully understood what they meant. He also hadn't understood why they had been forced to play close to the Burrow, with strict orders to watch Ginny, since she was the youngest.

He understood three weeks later. Three small girls in the village had gone missing, and their state when they were found, hadn't been...pleasant. the boy that had attacked the cat had been hauled off to some sort of facility, though no one had ever told Ron the full details. They hadn't really had to. He had a vivid imagination...and had quickly got over the resentment he had felt about being forced to stick with his sister.

"Exactly. Either the person who's doing this isn't entirely sane, or they're evil."

"Or both." He added, shuddering at the possibilities. The fact that he, as a Pureblood, was technically safe brought him no comfort at all.

"That, too. But what I really wanted to talk to you about was...Ron, what do you think of the voices Harry says he's been hearing? You said yourself that wasn't a good sign, even in this world."

Ron chewed on the ragged corner of his thumbnail. He had given this a lot of thought, and wasn't sure if he was ready for Hermione to point out any holes in it. Still, he could tell it was really bothering her, and if she didn't feel better soon, she would end up smothering Harry with her concern.

"It's not. In fact, it may even be worse than it is for Muggles. Magic can be dangerous enough as it is, but when a person is, um, unbalanced," he didn't think she'd appreciate it if he said barmy, "then really, really bad things end up happening until they're taken away."

Hermione looked indignant at this idea. "But it's not their fault! Surely, they could receive some sort of help that would-"

He shook his head impatiently. "Hermione, I'm not talking about people who get depressed, or who're a little off. I mean the ones that are dangerous to themselves and others, and either don't realize it of just plain don't care."

She backed down, seeing the logic in his statement. "Do you think Harry...no, I just can't believe that."

"I don't either. Look, think about it; weird stuff is happening that no one, not even Dumbledore can figure out. At the same time, Harry starts hearing things, something that's never happened before. Sounds too big to be a coincidence, doesn't it?"

Hermione stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment, then beamed. "That makes a lot of sense! That was some very good reasoning."

"You know, in spite of what you think, I can sometimes figure things out all by myself." He said sharply. Why did she have to sound so surprised? Did she really think he was that thick?

Her feet jerked away from where they had been resting between his, as if to put as much distance between them as possible. "I know that! I didn't mean-"

"Forget it. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" He waved her explanations away. He didn't need her trying to make him feel better out of pity.

"Not really. Just that we need to keep an eye on Harry. You know how he is; he's likely to start doubting himself, and that's the last thing he needs to do right now. If you could...I don't know, make sure he doesn't get too depressed? Keep him cheered up?"

"Comic relief, you mean?" He asked dryly. Did she think he was one of the bleeding twins?

She swung her legs to the floor, pushing herself up. "No, I'm just saying that you're good at making people happy. Harry needs that right now. It's getting late, so I'll see you in the morning."

"G'night." He called after her faintly. He...was good at making people happy? What did that even mean? She had sounded like she thought it was a good thing, but he wasn't so sure. There wasn't anything really special about it. He couldn't even recall doing anything on purpose that would make her say something like that. Did he he make people happy? Did he make her happy? He had the strangest urge to follow her upstairs and ask her.

He shook his head to clear it. He must be even more tired than he thought. Jaw cracking from his yawn, he stretched, sliding off the couch and dragging himself up to his room, where he burrowed under his covers, careful not to roll over onto Scabbers.

Hermione repressed a shudder at the sight of the rodent, but her mind wandered to the previous conversation. Had Ron always taken her words that way? Surely, he had learned to see past her awkwardness along the way, and understand what she was trying to tell him? She was beginning to think he hadn't.

As he drifted off to sleep, the familiar blackness of his unconsciousness swept over her, before being replaced with the light of a new memory. The location was the same as before, only this time Harry was with them as well, all three of them at a small table in the corner of the Common Room. It was late, and both boys slumped over their essays dejectedly, trading silent glances every once and a while when they thought Hermione wasn't looking, each one pleading with the other to think of some way to get them out of working any more.

"You know, if you put as much effort into working as you do getting out of it, you'd be done by now." Came Hermione's voice from behind the book that was propped in front of her.

"How do you know we're not?" Ron shot back, more for the distraction than any real feeling of denial.

"Simple. Your quills haven't been moving for ages. And before you get smart, I can tell the difference between your scribbling and actual work."

"Oh yeah? What does 'actual work' sound like?" He asked, hoping he could duplicate whatever it was to throw her off.

Hermione peered over the edge of the book, grinning darkly. "Like blood, sweat, and tears."

Ron and Harry looked at each other. 'Scary.' They mouthed.

"I heard that."

"So, Hermione, how is the you-know-what-doing? Is it almost ready?" Harry interjected.

Dipping his quill into the ink, Ron shook his head. Hermione wouldn't let herself be distracted by something as transparent as that.

"As a matter of fact, it is. It's the right color now to add some of the last ingredients, so I'll do that tomorrow."

Too busy filing the way the information that she could be distracted by more advanced levels of schoolwork, it was a few moments before he made sense of what she was saying.

"How do you know? It's been days since we last checked on it." He pointed out.

She shrugged. "Since we all last checked. But I had to add a few things to it last night, so I went down after everyone had gone to bed."

He had no idea why, but a burning anger lodged in his chest. "Oh, you did, did you? Just trotted downstairs and back up again, all on your own?" He snarled.

Hermione bristled at his tone. "Yes, exactly. I wasn't aware that I needed permission. It's not like I can't take care of myself; I was perfectly safe."

Ron addressed Harry. "You hear that? She was perfectly safe. So you lent her the cloak, then?"

Looking like he would like nothing more than to slip away and let the two of them continue, Harry shook his head.

Ron swung back around to face her. "Let's see if I have this right; there's a nutter running around threatening to kill Muggle-borns, they've already Petrified Colin, and so you decide to take a midnight stroll without telling anyone, or at least using the cloak so you can hide? Why don't you just dangle yourself from Mrs. Norris' torch bracket and have done with it!"

He had got progressively louder, until he had ended the last sentence with a roar, causing her to take a step back. Most people would have been cowed, but not Hermione. Instead, she leaned forward on the table, arguing forcefully with short, clipped words. His head sank into his hands as he drowned her out, trying to marshal his thoughts.

She didn't understand how serious this was! She had only been in this world for two years, so there was no way she could fully grasp how dangerous it was for her. His dad had told him stories of some of the things blood purists did to Muggle-borns. The thought of anything like that happening to Hermione made his stomach lurch. He wished he was smart enough, clever enough to find the right words to convince her, but his anger and panic was making it hard for him to think.

"Hermione, he's right. You're a target right now, and it's probably a bad idea to wonder around the castle alone at night. If you need help, just ask one of us. Please?" Harry finally spoke, cutting her off in mid flow.

Hermione visibly softened. "Alright, if it makes you feel better. You can come with me tomorrow, since I have to go back early in the morning."

Ron snapped his gaping mouth shut. How was it that when he was worried about her, it just made her mad, but when it was Harry, she went along like a lamb? He sighed. Sometimes it was hard being the stupid friend.

Hermione let out a shriek of frustration, knowing she couldn't be heard. When Ron had pointed it out, she had realized she probably should have told them, but she couldn't let him get away with saying it like that. Harry had been polite, so she was able to back down without losing face.

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, but you two will have to go without me. Wood's called another early practice." He said glumly, obviously not looking forward to it.

"Why didn't you say so? You need to get to bed! No, leave it," she brushed him away as he began to clear away his things, "I'll take care of it. Just go get some sleep."

Knowing better than to argue, Harry ambled up the stairs, leaving Ron to help Hermione clean up. The silence made him uncomfortable, so he decided to break it.

"I know you had to do it, I just don't think you should take any risks that you don't have to, okay?" He offered, not in the mood to fight.

She paused, hand hovering over the book she had been about to pick up, and looked him in the eye intensley. "Sometimes you have to make sacrifices."

Ron was left speechless for a moment at the shock of having his own words thrown back at him. "Those were completely different circumstances!" He managed at last. "I don't want anything to happen to you-"

"And you think I felt any differently last year? Not so fun being on this end of it, is it?" She snapped, jamming the book into her bag.

He blinked. Was she serious? Had she actually been that worried about him?

"Hermione, can you just...promise to be careful?" He asked quietly, capping his ink bottle.

She shouldered her bag, moving around the table to stand beside him. "Only if you promise too."

He regarded her thoughtfully. Hermione kept her promises. He stuck out his hand. "Shake on it."

Taking his hand, they shook twice, breaking out into grins. The tension melted from the air, and, saying goodnight, they made their ways to their separate dorms. Ron wasn't quite sure what had just happened, but he was filled with an odd sense of...hope?

Whatever.

The important thing was, he had got her to promise, so she should be safer now. Of course, living with the twins had taught him a few tricks about lying, such as crossed fingers behind your back. Because if either Harry or her was ever in trouble, there was no way that he wasn't going to do what he could to stop it, no matter what happened.

Hermione smiled wryly as he opened the door and slipped inside. Trust Ron to be so brave and protective that he had totally overlooked the fact that she had been lying, as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Here we are at the second half of book 2! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It seems that every time something has gone wrong, I get a notification, and they have really helped.

**STORY NOTE: A guest left a review saying that it would be nice to see more of the thoughts of adult Ron and Hermione. I completely understand. The reason there hasn't been more is because too much will impede the flow of the story, and a major emotional revelation every chapter could get...tedious. Rest assured, there will be more instances from their points of view as time goes on. Thank you for keeping your criticism constructive and politely worded; while this chapter was finished and the next nearly so when I received this review, it will be taken into account for future chapters.**

And now, please enjoy while I scurry off to write year three, where we will most DEFINITELY see some reaction from adult Ron...

She wanted to die. No. Too melodramatic. What she actually wanted was to move to a far off country, change her name, and pretend that, through her own stupidity, she had never looked like a creature from a fifties sci-fi film. How could she have made such a foolish mistake? It was that that bothered her more than anything else. Now she had to lay here in the hospital wing, missing out on all the action. To make things worse, she couldn't even go home for the the Christmas break.

Her parents had not asked for a cat for Christmas.

Tail lashing angrily, she threw herself back on her pillows. She had been reading all day, and had just finished the dinner tray that Madam Pomfrey had brought her. The room was empty except for herself, and the quiet was beginning to get on her nerves. It was probably too much to ask for Harry and Ron to visit. The room wasn't exactly conducive for a good time, and she knew they were most likely taking advantage of her absence to skive off homework. So she was quite surprised when the door creaked open, and Ron strolled in, sprawling into the puffy armchair that was next to her bed. What was he doing here? He had already been in with Harry to drop off her homework. And if they had figured something out, Harry would be here too. She craned her neck, but Harry didn't come through the door.

"It's just me. No need to look so disappointed." Ron said, shifting a dozing Scabbers from his shoulder to his pocket.

She knew him well enough by now to hear the slight edge to his voice that told her he wasn't entirely teasing. "I'm not disappointed, just surprised. The two of you are almost always together, like Fred and George." She explained.

"Well, I can manage to tear myself away from him every once and a while. Nearly broke his heart when I left, though."

Hermione laughed with him, shaking her head. "But really, where is he? He's not...hearing anything is he?"

He gave her a small scowl. "As if I would've left him alone if he were! Nah, he's just playing Gobstones with Neville. I got bored and decided to come down here. 'S'not really my game."

Tactfully, she refrained from mentioning that he didn't have a set of his own. "Chess is a better game, anyway."

Smirking, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ah, I knew I would convert you eventually. Nearly brought my set down, but then I thought it would be cruel to beat you while you were recovering. You can consider that my get well gift."

"Very funny. You know, everyone else has stuck to sending conventional gifts, like flowers and sweets."

The smirk widened into a grin. "I know. The Chocolate Frogs were delicious."

She rolled her slitted eyes. "Yes, that's why I set them out for you."

"Thanks. Makes me sound like one of the creatures from the Forbidden Forest that Hagrid leaves meat out for."

"Not everything that lives in the Forest is that bad, you know. Harry saw a unicorn last year."

"Yeah, a dead one." Ron said flatly. "Not sad that I missed out on that outing. There's nothing anyone could say to make me set one foot in there."

"Not even if it meant the Cannons would win the Cup this year?" She teased, only half aware that she was flicking her tail.

"Nope. They've gone this long without winning, one more loss won't kill 'em."

As they continued to banter back and forth, a warm, pleasant sensation stole over Hermione. She smiled contentedly, feeling drowsy. Her eyes kept fluttering closed, and it was a struggle to make them stay open, but she didn't want Ron to leave yet. For once, it was nice not to talk about all the scary things that were going on.

"Um...Hermione?" Ron's voice squeaked.

"Hmm?"

"You're...well...I don't know how to say this."

"'S'rong?" She asked lazily.

"Ithinkyoumaybepurring."

"Oh. Of course I am. You're stroking my tail." Her own words seemed to shock her, making her suddenly aware of long, bony fingers running through thick fur, and her body flew into a fully upright position, jerking the tail Ron was guiltily holding out of his hands.

He was staring at her in horrified fascination, and she was quite sure they were sporting his and hers matching red blushes. "What were you doing with my tail?" She hissed. Really. Hissed. How she managed to do that with words that had no esses, she had no idea, unless it was another side affect of being part cat. She found that it conveyed her feelings quite nicely.

"Nothing! I didn't even notice! It was soft and furry, and my hands were just messing about with it like I sometimes do with Scabbers!" Ron blurted, trying to forestall disaster, blue eyes wide in fear.

"Are you insinuating that my tail is like a rat?" Her voice had gone up several octaves with rage.

"No! Of course not! It's a nice-I mean it's really- bugger it. Could you just hex me and get it over with?" He asked, his voice muffled from having his hands covering his face.

This calmed her somewhat. At least he was just as miserable as she was.

"It's alright. You just...startled me."

They were saved any more awkwardness by the sound of a bell, signalling that it was fifteen minutes to curfew.

Ron leaped from the chair, looking relieved. "I guess I'll go then. See you tomorrow."

She nodded, knowing she didn't even need to mention that he had better keep this to himself. It was obviously going under the file of 'This Never Happened.'

"Goodnight, Ron. Go ahead and bring your chess set tomorrow night." She said, her voice approaching normal.

He nodded, seeming to understand that this was her way of letting him know it was alright to come back, and there would be no more talk about the tail.

She watched as he started to walk away, then turn back, an expression of curiosity on his face.

"Hey, Hermione? Is-"

"Is what?" She asked, when he cut himself off.

"Nothing, it's not important. G'night."

He waved over his shoulder, while she continued to puzzle out what he could have been about to say, before giving up.

Ron watched himself scurry away. He remembered. He had been about to ask if her fur felt like her hair, but had stopped himself before he wound up sounding like a huge tit. Her tail had been nice and fluffy, and he had been curious, before he remembered that people weren't animals and you certainly didn't go around stroking them. Especially ones that could use rather inventive hexes on you.

Hermione flopped backwards, pulling her pillow over her face and moaning in mortification. When her mother had given her 'the talk' this summer about the birds and the bees and all the steps leading up to it, this wasn't how Hermione had pictured her first encounter to go. Like most girls, she had envisioned nothing more serious than hand holding and a few kisses, with tongue if she was feeling especially daring. But no, Hermione Jean Granger seemed doomed to leap ahead in more than just academics. For all intents and purposes, she had just been felt up by a boy for the very first time. Which, she recalled, was several steps beyond the first step in the relationship flowchart she had set for herself.

He doubled over laughing at her thought. He had never thought of it that way, but there had been something intimate about the way he had stroked her tail. Poor Hermione. That wasn't exactly the sort of experience you gossiped about with the other girls. He would feel guilty, if he wasn't aware that she herself would eventually chuck aside her own rules for their first kiss. On the other hand, didn't this technically mean that he had got tail when he was twelve years old? Before he could contemplate this any further, he was jerked away from thought rather rudely, being pulled along by memories once more.

Racing down the hall, Hermione was filled with a sense of elation. She was right, she just knew she had to be! It was the only way all the pieces fit. She was sure she had read something similar in the library, she just needed to find the book. The answer had been niggling at the back of her mind for a while now, but Harry had just clinched it for her. What was the one thing that Harry was known to be able to hear that others couldn't? The very symbol of the House of Slytherin; snakes! It made perfect sense. Only someone who could communicate with it would be able to avoid looking at it and being killed.

Reaching the door to the library, she took a moment to calm herself. It wouldn't do anyone any good if Madam Pince threw her out of there before she found what she needed. Quietly, she tiptoed in, going immediately to the shelves that she thought would hold the information she was looking for. Penelope Clearwater sat at a nearby table, looking up to smile as Hermione passed. The older Ravenclaw prefect had been kind to her last year, helping her find her way around and recommending some books for her to read in her spare time. They weren't close, but they had shared several nice conversations, and Hermione admired her, hoping to be like her when she reached sixth year.

Picking up a book, she began to flip through the pages, her eyes rapidly scanning the text. If she was right, she would be one step closer to proving that Harry had nothing to do with this mess. She sniffed contemptuously, thinking of all the people that fawned over 'The Boy Who Lived' one moment and then blamed him and talked behind his back the next. As if he didn't have enough to deal with, living with his awful family, and having some Dark Lord wanting to kill him.

There was also a smaller, less altruistic reason for wanting to be right. If she was, Ron would have to admit that her bookish habits weren't anything to look down on. Ron's earlier comment had hurt. What was wrong with being a prefect or Head Boy? Her goal was to be made Head Girl. It was the one thing her parents could really understand. With the ban on under-age magic, she was unable to show them anything she had learned, and magic was something that you had to see to appreciate properly. If she became prefect, and eventually Head Girl, at least this way they would have something they would be able to tell people who asked about her. But Ron spoke about it as if it were some kind of disease, as if the person afflicted was somehow disgusting, almost implying that he would have nothing to do with such a person. He knew she was likely to try for it. Was that how he felt about her? Would they drift apart in the next few years, or would they only be loosely tied together because of their mutual friendship with Harry? That would be sad. She had grown to like Ron quite a lot, and hoped he had felt the same, in spite of the way they sometimes got on one another's nerves.

She gave her head a sharp shake. This wasn't the time to think about that. She shelved the book in her hand, frustrated at her lack of results. Picking up the next likely looking one, the process was repeated. This happened three more times, and each successive reshelving became louder and more violent than the last.

"Hermione? Are you having trouble?" Came a voice behind her, causing her to jump.

"Oh! Penelope! Yes, I'm looking for something, but I can't quite seem to find it. Would you happen to know which book would have anything on basilisks?" She asked hopefully.

"Basilisks? Hmm. Now, let me see...I seem to recall...yes! Here it is." She exclaimed, bending to the bottom shelf and removing a tattered book wedged in the corner.

Hermione thanked her, sitting down at the table. The cover kept slipping off, and loose pages fluttered everywhere. Carefully, she turned the brittle parchment, the word she was looking for leaping out at her. Avidly, she read the description, muttering to herself, only half aware of Penelope's amused look. The pieces of the puzzle were slotting themselves together in her mind. Only one thing was missing. If this was the monster they were looking for, how was it getting around?

"Well, I'm glad to see you found what you were looking for. If you wouldn't mind, would you watch my bag? I need to pop back to the dorms, since the pipes in the loo on this floor are backed up."

Her head snapped up. That was it! In her excitement, she had accidentally torn the page from the book, which would have normally caused her distress, but since it was already shedding pages like a molting parrot, she let it go. Besides, it would be faster than checking the book out. Grabbing a quill that was lying on the table, she quickly wrote the word 'pipes' in the margin, so she wouldn't forget. Realizing that Penelope was leaving, she leaped from the table, grabbing the other girl by the wrist.

"Wait! You can't go out there yet! I think I've figured out what has been going around petrifying people, and if I'm right, you need to be careful."

Penelope, being a Ravenclaw, was curious. "Oh? Can you tell me what it is?"

Hermione thrust the page at her. "Read this and see what you think."

The girl skimmed the page, her brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. It says right here that looking at a basilisk will kill you. It doesn't mention anything about being petrified."

"But what if you don't look directly at it?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Mrs. Norris was standing next to a pool of water. She could have seen a reflection. Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick were found together, so Justin could have seen it through Nick. Who knows what effects a basilisk would have on a ghost? And Colin-"

"Was found holding his camera up to his eye! That's brilliant, Hermione! We should go and tell one of the professors right away."

Hermione was pleased that Penelope had followed her logic to its obvious conclusion, and agreed with her. Part of her wanted to go and tell Harry and Ron straight away, but it was more important that they got word to Dumbledore, so the whole school would be alerted quickly, hopefully preventing any more casualties. That only left the problem of how they should get to the staff room. The answer came to her almost instantly.

"Do you have anything like a mirror with you? That way, we could check around corners so we don't run into it."

Penelope rooted in her bag, pulling out a small mirror in triumph. "This should work. Let's hurry, since the bell will be ringing soon, and it will be harder to find anyone."

Both girls left the library, carefull to hold the mirror so it was angled around the door. Seeing nothing, they made it to the end of the first hall, when they heard something shuffle around the corner. Before the noise could register, she looked in the mirror. She barely had time to be afraid; her last thought, before her senses left her, was to clutch the paper tightly, hoping whoever found it would notice.

Panic invaded Ron's mind at the loss of the connection. Logically, he knew that she was alright and everything had turned out fine, but not being able to sense her thoughts and emotions after so long threw him for a loop. It didn't last long, however, and he found himself once again in the hospital wing, a place he was coming to realize that they had found themselves in with far too much frequency.

Hermione opened her eyes, squinting against the light. At first, she was disoriented, puzzled over why she was lying in what felt like a bed when she knew she had been standing in a hallway moments before.

"I see you are awake, Miss Granger. How are you feeling? Headache? Nausea? Any lingering stiffness of the limbs?" Asked Madam Pomfrey briskly, from her position at the foot of the bed.

Flexing first her arms, and then her legs, Hermione shook her head, shifting to sit up.

"Good! Then it looks as if the mandrakes did the job. Rest there for about ten minutes, and then you should be able to return to your dorm."

"Wait! Madam Pomfrey, what's happened? I mean, obviously I was petrified, but has anyone figured it out?" Hermione cried out, raising one hand.

The nurse turned back, adjusting the screen around Hermione's bed. "Yes, it's all been taken care of. It seems Mister Potter and Mister Weasley had a hand in it, but I suspect you had already guessed that. You can ask them any questions you may have as soon as you're able to leave."

She sank back onto her bed as the older woman bustled out, the voices of Justin, Colin, and Penelope echoing around the room. Looking down at her hand, she saw that the page she had been carrying was gone. Well, that explained how they were probably able to figure it out. Still, she wouldn't be content until she heard everything from them. She took it as a positive sign that she couldn't hear them out there; it meant there was a good chance that they hadn't been hurt. Unable to keep still, she slid out of the bed, and was able to leave the room undetected. She had forgotten to ask the details of her attack, and wondered how long she had lain there.

There was a festive air about the castle, and she had to push her way through groups of students several times. As she came to the Fat Lady, she realized she had a problem. She had no idea what the password was, and there was no one there to help. As she was just turning back to find someone, the portrait swung open, and several fourth years came out, passing her without a glance. Ducking around them, she heard them mention that dinner was going to be a feast tonight, with permission given to come wearing your pajamas, giving it the feel of a sleepover. She peered about for Harry and Ron, but couldn't spot them. Deciding she would change into fresh clothes while she waited, she took the stairs up to the girl's dorms.

Luckily, Lavender and Parvati were out, so she was saved having to be fussed over by them. Deciding she felt like wearing something comfortable, she grabbed a pair of joggers and a Gryffindor striped jumper from her wardrobe.

Ron spun around hastily, waiting until he heard the sounds of her walking back to the door before facing her again.

Hermione was still wondering were the boys were. Surely if they had been hurt, she would have seen them in the hospital wing? Unless they were so bad they had to be sent to St. Mungo's. This thought froze her at the top of the stairs. No. Madam Pomfrey would have mentioned that. Her worry eased as she came into the room, spotting three gingers sitting in chairs in the far corner of the room. Recognizing Ron and the twins, she hurried over, her steps faltering at the sight of their pale, drawn faces. Her heart began to hammer when she saw that Harry was not with them. Hesitantly, she walked up behind Ron, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He jerked at the contact, but brightened when he looked up to see who it was. "Hermione! I looked for you in the hospital wing, but you were already gone."

"What? Why were you in there? Are you alright?" She asked as she began looking him over for injuries, much to the amusement of the twins.

"Ronniekins is all in one piece, although it's touching of you to be so concerned." Snickered Fred.

"Harry's fine too, so no need to start in on him. It was Ginny that had to be taken in." Added George.

Hermione was confused. "Ginny? But...she's a pure-blood. Why would she be attacked?"

"She wasn't." Answered George, his mood darkening. "Would've been better if that's all it had been."

Growing frustrated, she looked from face to face for some sort of explanation. As one, the twins stood up, pushing one of the chairs in her direction.

"You fill her in, Ron. We're going to go down and see what's up. Percy's down there, but you know he probably won't tell us anything." Fred spoke to his younger brother before crossing the room, George right behind him.

Hermione sat down next to Ron, who had been unusually quiet. "Ron? Please tell me what's going on."

He blinked up at her, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. "I...well, I'm still trying to process it myself, really. It was all a bit much to take in."

Seeing how difficult it was, she suggested, "Why don't you start from when I was petrified and work your way from there."

Seeming relieved to have a direction, he began to tell her of all that she had missed, stopping only to answer the questions she would interrupt him with.

As he described the trip into the Forbidden Forrest, Hermione felt something akin to awe, along with something else she couldn't quite place.

"But you've always said you would never go in there! I can't imagine Harry being able to talk you into it, especially once you found out it involved spiders."

Ron shrugged, sharp angles of his shoulders rising and falling. "What else could I do? You were petrified, and who knows what could've happened to you if someone decided to attack the hospital. And I couldn't let Harry do it alone."

"Still, that was really brave, more so when you consider that you didn't even have a working wand." She insisted, wondering why he was being so stubborn about taking the compliment. Maybe she was doing it wrong? She always struggled when it came to praising people; stating it plainly as a fact wasn't quite special enough, but gushing made her feel insincere. She wished she could find the words to express herself, to somehow find the proper balance, because the words were true and they were something that Ron needed to hear.

Ron nodded to himself from his spot in the other abandoned chair. It made sense. Hermione always sounded so uncomfortable when she was saying something nice (although she had gotten better in recent years), that he had always taken it personally, as if she was trying to humor him. But the more he shared her thoughts, the more he saw that, while Hermione was good at explaining the feelings of others, she wasn't so great at expressing her own, especially the ones that left her feeling vulnerable. He returned his attention to the conversation.

Ron looked away, gazing gloomily into the fire. "Not that I would've been much help, even with a proper wand." He muttered.

Hermione glared at him, barely resisting the impulse to stomp her foot. "Don't be ridiculous, of course you would have! But that's not the point. The point is you went because we needed you to, even though it was something you were scared of. Now stop sulking, and tell me the rest!"

She watched as he shook his head as if he had been boxed about the ears. Which she might consider doing, if he kept being so down on himself. Hadn't they already had a talk about that? Leaving that for now, she listened as he recounted what they had learned from Aragog, scowling at the unfairness that Hagrid had been forced to suffer. But the story got worse. With each new revelation, she grew more ill, her face whitening to match his. No wonder he and the twins had looked so awful when she came down! So much for her promise to herself to keep an eye on Ginny. She had spent time with the younger girl, but not nearly as much as she should have. It had completely escaped her attention that anything was wrong with her; she was fairly popular amongst the students of her own year, and she was doing well in all her lessons. She often had strange fits of blushing and stammering that were at odds with her usual outgoing personality, but Hermione had her own suspicions as to the cause of that.

"It was Ginny? That...that's horrible!" She gasped, still trying to process what she had been told.

"It wasn't her fault!" He snapped, as if daring her to argue, his eyes flashing from anger.

She reared back. The last time he had looked like that, he had ended up belching slugs. "Of course not! She was possessed, Ron. I know Ginny would never do a thing like that."

He sat back, appearing mollified at her words. "Sorry. I just know what some people would say if this gets out, and I got a little..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"No one else needs to know, and they won't be hearing it from me." She stated simply.

Ron threw her a grateful look, but still seemed uneasy, as if something was weighing him down.

She wasn't sure if she should press him, but the thought that she might be able to help decided her. "Ron, What's wrong? I can tell there's something still bothering you."

A conflicted expression crossed his face, before he brought his hands up to scrub at his eyes and down his cheeks, the skin reddening with the force of the motion.

"I should have been able to help her!" The words popped out like a jack-in-the-box, as if he had been suppressing them up until now.

"You did the best you could! Besides, from what you say, Harry was lucky enough-"

"No, that's not it. I mean, I should've figured out there was something wrong with her before. What kind of brother am I? I promised to take care of her when she came, and she winds up getting possessed by the worst Dark wizard in history under my watch!" He finished with a huff, slumping dejectedly.

But Hermione disagreed. "Rubbish. She had three other brothers here too, didn't she? And none of them noticed. Besides, I have the impression that Ginny is capable of taking care of her self in most circumstances."

"Look, Hermione, you're an only child, so you probably don't understand," she flinched, but he didn't notice. "but I'm closer to Ginny than the other three, so it should've been me to look out for her. Don't get me wrong, she can be a bloody pain in my arse sometimes, but still..."

Hermione laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Stop blaming yourself. Even if you had been with her every day, you still might not have seen it. It was powerful dark magic, and I doubt that many wizards would be able to pick up on it. And you can still help Ginny if you want to, since she's going to need it."

He looked at her skeptically. "Why would she need help now? It's all over."

"Not for Ginny." She said softly, "She went through a lot, Ron. She's probably feeling scared and upset and, even though she shouldn't be, ashamed. I wouldn't be surprised if she had nightmares from it. She'll need someone to talk to, and she may not feel comfortable doing that with your parents. I'm sure it would be easier on her if she knew you were there for her."

Ron squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. "I dunno. I'm not really good when it comes to things like that. She'd be better off talking to someone like you."

"She can, if she wants to. But we'll be going home soon, and that's really not the kind of thing you can talk about by owl. And anyway, she might not even need to actually talk, but you should let her know that she can count on you if she needs you."

He nodded slowly. "Guess I can do that."

Her lips curved in an encouraging smile. She knew he was most likely as good about discussing things like feelings as he was with dealing with spiders, but she also knew that he would try.

His hesitant smile morphed into something more sly. "You know, I'm actually pretty surprised to see you down here. I expected you to be locked up in your room, revising for the tests we have in three days."

Horrified, she sprang to her feet, panic coursing through her system. "What? Three days? That's not nearly enough time! I'm sure I've lost so much ground while I was petrified. How will I know what to expect?"

Chortling, he replied, "Oh, you know you'll pull perfect marks. And just think, you don't even have to worry about doing anything for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

She rounded on him, almost daring him to comment further, taking satisfaction from the way he shrank back into his seat, arms up in surrender. Lockhart. She had pushed thoughts of him to the back of her mind, but now she was reminded to be thoroughly disgusted with him. When she thought about how much she had admired him...it made her sick. He had been an author, for Merlin's sake! And now, to find out that he had-had profaned the written word! Fiction was one thing, but deliberately writing something so blatantly false and then passing it off as fact was quite another. And all just to stroke his own ego! She had turned a blind eye, not wanting to believe that someone in the profession she held in such esteem could do such a thing. Well, she had had a rude wake-up call. She was, to her own surprise, thankful for it in a way, but she would never tell Ron. The smugness oozing from him was bad enough as it was. No, she would just keep that little piece of information to herself. But the next time she became attracted to a man, it would be to someone who was honest, someone who could back up his words. Better yet, someone whose actions spoke for him, one that didn't feel the need to brag about every good thing that he had done. And, when she thought about it, he wasn't even all that good looking, was he. She didn't find blonds all that attractive, and as for his supposedly prize-winning smile, she had seen much better smiles on-

"Hurry up, Seamus! The feast is about to start!" Dean yelled, breaking Ron and Hermione out of their respective thoughts.

"Ron, you go ahead and save me a seat. I'm going to run back to my room and get my dressing gown, since it's chilly in the Great Hall."

"Sure. Maybe Harry's there already." Ron agreed, getting to his feet.

Hermione made her way back to her room, grabbing her dark blue dressing gown from where it hung from a peg by her bedside. She hoped she had said the right things to Ron. She knew he had some strange sort of inferiority complex, which she couldn't understand. Even if his brothers were as great as he said, she knew he had the potential to be just as good, if not better. If only she could figure out a way to boost his confidence...she would ponder that further, when she had more time.

Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she stopped to examine herself. Strange. She didn't look like someone that had been petrified. Which, she supposed, was a good thing. It meant that she could leave the minor detail of her...indisposition out of her explanation of what had gone on this year to her parents. She hated the fact that she had to hide things from them, but she didn't want them to worry, and she definitely didn't want them to pull her out of Hogwarts. She would tell them as much as she could, but she would gloss over the more dangerous parts.

Realizing that she had been standing there far longer than she meant to, she hurried downstairs, following the sounds of loud voices and laughter. Scanning the Gryffindor table, she spotted Ron and Harry, who looked like he could use a nice, long shower. Her face split into a wide grin, and with a yell, she was running across the room, relieved at the sight of her friend, healthy and whole.

She slid onto the bench next to him, listening quietly as he filled them in on what happened after Ron left Dumbledore's office. It was still hard to believe everything that happened, and she hadn't even been there for the end. On the other side of Harry, she could tell by Ron's face that he was thinking too much to change the subject.

Hermione clapped her hands briskly. "Right. As soon as we're done eating, we'll go and bring our books back down to the Common Room. We need to hurry; three days isn't very long to prepare."

Ron and Harry gave her incredulous looks. "We? What do you mean by 'we'?" Harry asked. "You don't mean us, do you?"

She eyed them beadily. "I certainly do. Unless you managed to stay on top of your work without me, and you feel like you'll be able to pass?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

The boys looked at each other, both coming to the same conclusion. "We," they groaned together.

Hermione smiled brightly, already forming study guides in her mind and making a note to have a talk with Ginny. She was happier than she had been since she had woken up in hospital, and she planned on enjoying the little time they had remaining at school. She glanced at Ron, who seemed to have perked up and was acting more like his normal self. She would also keep an eye on him, to make sure he stopped blaming himself about Ginny. Although, she had to admit his concern for those he cared about was one of his more attractive qualities...she blinked, then shook off the strange sensation. Something unfamiliar had stirred within her, but she brushed it off. Obviously, she was experiencing side effects from her ordeal. Now, what was Dumbledore saying about exams?  
Ron smiled as he felt, oh so subtly, the beginning of the shift in the way she felt towards him, as opposed to Harry. It was just a small flutter, easily overlooked, and something that could have faded in time, never to be realized. Somehow, he had been lucky enough that it had taken root, and would grow steadily stronger with time. She didn't know what it meant yet, and had barely even felt it was there, but it was, as sure as the freckles on his face.

The Great Hall slowly gave way to the Granger's living room, where Hermione was lounging on the sofa, going through a list of things to pack and what she needed to do before her family left on holiday. She wrote steadily, occasionally tapping her pen against her lips in thought. The young woman in the chair next to her was instantly recognizable to Ron as Hermione's childhood babysitter Jackie, though nowadays she only visited Hermione, who had long since outgrown the need for adult supervision when her parents went out. Hermione had been filling her in on her life at school while they were sitting there, (as best as she could; Jackie was under the impression that Hermione went to a school for gifted children.) and Hermione wanted to ask her opinion on something that she had been mulling over since the end of term.

"Jackie, can I ask you a question?" Hermione asked, abandoning her list.

The young woman lowered the metalworking magazine she had been flipping through. "Sure, go ahead."

"Boys don't like to admit when they're afraid of something, right?" She asked in the tone she always used when she was trying to understand something.

Her friend looked startled, not having expected this type of question. "In general? No. Boys your age? Most emphatically not." She answered, voice filled with amusement.

"And don't they generally brag when they've done something important?"

Jackie grinned wryly. "Oh yes. And if you thought whatever he did the first time around was amazing, wait until the fifth or sixth telling. You'll be surprised at how even more impressive it is by then."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. Alright, that corroborated her own findings. That just left her with the puzzle she had been trying to solve these past few months, and the odd fluttering sensation that came along with it.

"Then what about a boy who not only admits that he's extremely afraid of something, and not only does he not seem ashamed of it, but then, even though he doesn't have to, he faces it to help someone else? And then never makes a big deal of it, like what he did wasn't special at all?" Hermione waited for an answer, knowing that if anyone would have one, it would be Jackie.

The woman regarded her over the tops of her rectangular glasses for several long moments. "Then I would say that you had found an unusually spectacular boy." She finally said softly.

Squirming under the look of her former sitter, Hermione rushed, "Well, I suppose. But he's not perfect, you know. He slacks off on his homework, he has a bit of a temper, and his self confidence wouldn't fill a thimble-"

"Oh, well, that's just me all over, innit?" Ron spluttered. "The emotional range of a teaspoon, and a thimbleful of confidence. Cheers."

"And sometimes...well, sometimes he can be...a bit of a prat." Hermione finished, irritated at herself for feeling guilty for saying it. There was no reason to; she had told him to his face often enough.

Jackie laughed. "Hermione, let me tell you something; all boys that age are prats."

Hermione smiled weakly, not finding much humor in it. "Yes, but I'm sure it will get better over the next couple of years."

This was met with peals of laughter, which Ron added to himself, while Hermione only felt bewildered.

"My dear girl, just you wait! You thought the last two years were bad? It only gets worse from here. I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but you have a minimum of five years before they become sensible beings."

Groaning, Hermione buried her face in her hands. What exactly had she been signing up for when she made friends with not one, but two boys? It already took a great deal of energy to hold her own so they didn't steamroll over her already. If things got much worse, she was going to come across as a total cow.

Ron pondered this. He had never given much thought to what it must have been like for her. She had been the mature, level-headed one of the group, constantly keeping them out of scrapes and making them put some effort into their studies. He and Harry had been...well. Yes. They hadn't made it easy, and, he recalled guiltily, had sometimes been complete arses when she was just doing her best to look out for them. Without meaning to, they had sort of ganged up on her, and then had resented it when she pushed back extra hard.

"So, does your boyfriend have a name?"

Hermione choked, cheeks blushing madly. "What? No! Ron is just my friend!" She protested. How could she think that? The very idea was-was ridiculous!

Jackie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "What made you think of him? I could have meant the other one."

Oh dear Merlin, this was not happening. She was not sitting here in her very own living room being interrogated about her non-existant love life. And Ron, of all people! No, that would never work out. Ron was perfectly nice, but she had it all planned out; when she was about sixteen, she would look for someone with compatible temperaments, goals, and interests. He would be quiet, studious, and a person of high moral character. She wasn't foolish enough to believe she would marry the first person she was with, but if she was careful, it shouldn't have to exceed more than five.

Ron gawked, slack-jawed. Was she mental? A bloke like that might look good on paper, but he couldn't hope to keep up with Hermione. She was spirited and headstrong, and needed someone who wouldn't always back down to her, someone who could push her boundaries while still being supportive. Someone she wouldn't get bored with in three months. A person that could get her to relax and laugh. Someone, he thought rather smugly, like himself.

Hermione snatched up her notepad and pen, hastily jotting down more items on her list. She was going to pretend this conversation never happened. Thankfully, it semed like Jackie was going to let it go-

"Hermione? One more thing."

She tensed up, gripping the pen tightly between her fingers. "Yes?"

"If you find a boy that, even at his prattiest, is still a good person, someone you can trust and enjoy being around? Then hold onto him, because he's a keeper."

"I'm not attracted to prats, but I'll keep that in mind." Hermione answered stiffly, not bothering to look up, completely missing Jackie's small, knowing smile.

Ron barked out a laugh. "Not attracted to prats, are you? Love, you're attracted to the king of them all!"


	9. Chapter 9

Ron dragged his feet as he followed Harry and Hermione down the corridor, his head hanging low and shoulders curled in a slump. Today had not been his day. Neither had yesterday. Nor, come to think about it, had the day before. You could almost go as far as to say that it hadn't been his year; he was hard pressed how to imagine it being any worse, and he had a very vivid imagination. The day had started by finding that he had had another growth spurt recently, and the cuffs of his trousers and shirts weren't hitting where they should, exposing an extra strip of pale flesh. Sadly, this was nothing new, but if it kept happening at this pace, he was going to have a good long look at the family tree. He was beginning to suspect giant blood at work.

Still, he had experience with this sort of thing. With his robes on, it did a good job of keeping him covered. When he took them off, he was careful to push his sleeves part way up his arms. There wasn't much he could do about his trousers except to make sure he kept his socks pulled up, which meant wearing the same pairs more than once, as he had a limited supply of colors that weren't hideous. Of course, today he had only been able to find a puce, orange and purple checked pair. Thanks, Mum. Add that to the list of reasons why I won't be making Witch Weekly's '100 Sexiest Wizards' list.

Just as he had decided that his clothes looked about as presentable as they were going to, he had heard a loud shriek, followed by a yip from Neville, who had jumped from where he had sat on Ron's bed, clutching his arse. Apparently he had nearly squashed Scabbers to death, and the poor animal was left with no choice but to bite the boy to get him to move. Ron had held his limp rat to his chest, watching his tiny body heave as he gasped for air. It was impossible to be mad at Neville. The bloke had practically been in tears, apologizing and tripping over his own two feet.

He had hoped for sympathy at breakfast, but Harry had been distracted by his own thoughts, and Hermione was still frosty from last night. He had been under pressure to finish an essay, and had snapped when she tried to rush him so they could go check on the Polyjuice. The fight had got quite heated, and words poured from his mouth without passing through his brain. Harry had stood behind Hermione at one point, frantically shaking his head and waving his hands. When asked later, he had told Ron that he 'had seen a cloud of stupid roll across his face and knew that nothing good could come of it.' And he had been right. Once again he had let his temper get the best of him, and Hermione had gone up to her room in a snit.

Lessons, if it were possible, were worse. In Potions, his concoction had turned a foul shade of yellow, and had oozed out of his cauldron to nearly strangle him before Harry and Hermione could get it off. The only good thing to come of that was Hermione thawed towards him a bit. During Transfiguration, instead of changing his cockroach into a playing card, his wand had malfunctioned and he had ended up giving it a little purple top hat and spats. McGonogall had been less than amused, informing him that his brothers had never had any such problem, and she saw no reason why he shouldn't be able to do it if he applied himself. He had barely bitten back the retort that 'they had actually had working wands, hadn't they? Would she like to send off for a replacement for his?'

But then he had got to thinking. Maybe it wasn't the wand. Maybe he was just a washout as a wizard. It's not like he had been much better last year. What was wrong with him? He wasn't a Squib, but he wasn't quite a wizard, either. They would have to come up for a new name, just for him. He would finally be famous for something, even if it was just for his own failure.

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, it truly was awful how he was feeling, and his face had such a pitiful expression. On the other hand, his over dramatic thoughts made him seem like a one man soap. She had forgotten how much angst was involved with being a teenager.

Ron flopped heavily into a chair by the fire, across from Hermione. Harry dropped his books off with them, before going off to find Neville to practice the Charms homework they had been paired together for. He didn't look pleased by this arrangement, and Ron could hardly blame him. The only one doing worse than him in lessons right now was Neville, and hardly anyone who had to work with him came away unscathed.

Hermione placed her books neatly on the table, and picked up her wand. "Shall we practice, or would you prefer to start with something else?"

He pulled out his own wand, holding it up derisively. "Are you sure you don't want to trade partners? Or at least put on some type of protective clothing?"

She smiled, and joked, "I could do without the top hat, but a pair of purple spats might be rather fetching."

The corners of his lips lifted briefly at her attempt at humor, before fading completely. "Seriously, Hermione. What's the point? We both know I'm going to fuck it up, so why even bother?"

Standing, she placed her wandless hand on her hip. "Nonsense. Even if your wand is broken, you can still practice the incantations and movements for when you get a new one."

Glancing at the badly taped length of wood, he tossed it on the table, fighting the urge to chuck it across the room. "Yeah," he said flatly. "Broken."

A look of understanding crossed her face. "Ron, it is the wand, you know. There isn't anything wrong with you."

"Oh yeah? Then how do you explain last year? I wasn't exactly great then, either."

She let out a frustrated puff of air, blowing up her fringe. "You're main problem is you freeze up when you do a new spell for the first few times in front of people. Once you've had a bit of practice, you're always fine. If you would just do it during the times I ask you when we revise, it wouldn't be as hard. I swear though, getting you to work outside of lessons is like pulling hen's teeth."

He scowled up at her. "Then why waste your time? Why don't you focus on that twitchy first year, what's-her-name? She could use it."

They both gave a shudder. The student in question was woefully inept. They were still scraping frog guts from all over the Transfiguration classroom. Which was quite a feat, given that the accident occurred in Potions...Ron only hoped that Neville never got together with the younger girl.

"Did you ever think there might be a reason, besides being your friend, that I help you and Harry, and not people like Rachel?"

Ron began to open his mouth, but she narrowed her eyes and snapped, "Think carefully before you answer that."

He sat back, saying nothing.

"Well? Not going to answer?"

He shook his head. "Was, but I thought better of it. I think it would be safer if you just told me."

Both Hermiones rolled their eyes. "Fine. The difference is, Rachel is doing her best. She tries so hard, and is even losing sleep with how late she stays up Working. Sadly, she's just never going to be very good at Potions, no matter how much effort she puts in. It would just make things harder on her if someone pushed her to do more. You two, on the other hand, have the potential to improve. But the only time you put any real effort into it is when I browbeat the both of you into submission. Which gets results, even though you won't admit it."

Admit it? Of course he wouldn't admit it! She would never let him live it down! Besides, it was irritating enough that he couldn't seem to grasp things on his own without a shove in the right direction.

He kicked at the leg of the table. "Well, you can save yourself the trouble with me. It's not like it'll make much difference in the end, anyway."

"What is that supposed to mean? Of course it will! If you don't apply yourself now, how do you expect to do well on your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s later on?"

His pent up frustration came bubbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "It doesn't matter! I'm the youngest of six brothers, Hermione. Each one of them has done something amazing, and I'm never going to live up to that. Some people expect me to, but most know that I'm...just...just plain Ron. There's nothing special or remarkable about me, so why bother trying, when I know I won't ever be able to compete on that level?"

He could feel himself turning red, and immediately regretted his outburst. Hermione was one of the people whose, for whatever strange reason, opinion mattered most, and the thought of her pitying him made him ill.

She let out a low growl, a fearsome snarl curling her lips as she loomed over him. Ron wondered, distantly, if this was what a tree felt like when confronted with an angry beaver.

At his thought, Hermione slapped him on the side of the head, even if he couldn't feel it. She added it to the list of things she would be...discussing with him later.

"I don't think I've heard anything more ridiculous coming from your mouth in all the time I've known you, and that is saying a lot, Ron Weasley! How can you even think that? There isn't anything that they have done that you couldn't do if you wanted, and I refuse to let you go on acting like you're some sort of-of failure, or something!"

"Why not? I might as well accept it now," he muttered. Hm. Maybe pity wouldn't have been so bad.

Two seconds later he had to leap back with a yelp, his eyes popping as he burrowed into the back of the chair. Hermione had slammed her hands down on the arm rests, and her face was barely two inches away from his. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were sparking like some of the twins' favorite fireworks.

"Now you listen to me, and you listen good. I. Will. Not. Let you do this to yourself! You are not giving up. I'm going to drag you kicking and screaming through your education, and someday you are going to do something so amazing that you leave your brothers in the dust. And when you do, I'll be there with a big, fat I-told-you-so!"

He blinked rapidly. "Lemme see if I got this straight. You're going to be on my arse until we leave, and then, when I make something of myself, you're...going to rub my own success in my face?"

She stepped back, leaning against the table, giving her head an emphatic nod. "Yes. Exactly."

"You're barking."

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Some people would say I'm mental for believing in magic. Why would it be more mental to believe in you?"

Words failed him. Had she really just said that? Actually, had anyone ever come right out and said they believed in him before? Not that he could remember. And she was willing to back her words up. They had nearly five and a half more years of school left; that was an awfully long time to put up with him. He knew she was stubborn, but could anyone last that long? Sooner or later, wouldn't she just get sick of it? It wouldn't be easy. They butted heads frequently, and he was always managing to get under her skin. Still, to have her invest that much time in him was oddly flattering. Part of him wanted to bask in it, while the rest of him braced himself for the inevitable moment when she came to the conclusion that he was a lost cause. Hermione was smart. She wouldn't stick around when she saw he was more trouble than he was worth. He wouldn't get her hopes up.

Hermione gasped, as things clicked together. There had been so many times that he had been unusually difficult to deal with, fighting her at every turn when it came to their schoolwork, but now they made sense. Because each time she stuck it out, to him, it was like she was saying, 'I still believe in you. I'm not giving up.' It gave him the affirmation and attention he craved, while at the same time, if she had given up, kept him protected from disappointment. It wouldn't hurt nearly as much if she gave up on him for being annoying than it would for thinking he was stupid.

Hermione blushed, obviously embarrassed at her bald proclamation of faith. "Ahem. Well. Let's get to work, shall we? Unless you prefer to sit there while I read Hogwarts: A History out loud to you."

The moment, which had been charged with something Ron didn't recognize, was broken, and he sighed in relief.

"As much as I could use a nap, we should probably get started. If I make you end up spewing snails, just pretend you're in France, having an authentic dining experience."

Hermione watched the two of them laugh. It hadn't always been easy. Sometimes, she had wanted to throw her hands in the air and leave him to it. But, not counting the times they were fighting, she hadn't, and she was now very glad. She had always had faith in Ron. She hoped she was better at showing it now. Though his confidence was much more steady, the approval of those he cared about still mattered to him, even if he didn't let it define him. And while she believed that her actions spoke clearly, she decided that she would work on saying it straight out. Because he did work hard, and accomplished a lot purely on his own efforts, and he deserved recognition for it.

Suddenly, she doubled over, her stomach cramping painfully. She hissed through her teeth. Whatever was wrong with him now, it was worse than the slugs. She unclenched her eyes, spying him across from her at the head of his bed, the curtains pulled closed around them.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Any minute, he expected to wake up and find it had only been a nightmare, or for the twins to pop out at him, laughing at him for falling for this prank. But it wasn't, and they didn't. It was horribly, horribly real, and there was no escaping the cold, hard fact; Hermione was gone. Oh, maybe not dead, but close enough. It was strange. Even though he had been fully aware that Muggle-borns were being targeted, and had warned her numerous times to be careful, he had never actually believed that anything could happen to her. Anyone else, yes, but not her. The three of them were supposed to pull out of it, just like they had last year. The only thing that finally made him believe it was true was seeing her body lying in the hospital bed.

It had been the worst feeling of his life.

She didn't...she didn't look like his friend at all. Had she always been that small? He didn't think so. There had always been such a sense of life and movement from her, even when she was sitting still. Her fingers would be twirling a small lock of hair as she read, the pace determined by the intensity of the story. Her teeth would bite down on her lower lip, her foot would tap to some beat that only she could hear. This wasn't Hermione, this cold, unmoving shell on the bed. This wasn't the girl who nagged him about his homework, or laughed at one of his sarcastic jokes. He had bitten back the sob that had clawed it's way up his throat, not wanting to lose it in front of Harry, and eventually he had got himself under control, assuming the worst was over.

It wasn't.

Lessons had been hell, and not in the sense that he usually meant. Others seemed to feel it to a lesser extent; every time a question was asked, the class collectively held it's breath, waiting for the hand that would never be raised. Ron's attention suffered. He couldn't keep his gaze from drifting to her empty seat, wondering, with a sickening sensation, if she would ever be there to fill it again. Because there were no guarantees that the mandrakes would actually work, since no one still had any idea what was causing this.

And ironically, the one person Ron believed to have any chance of solving this had been struck down already. He wished she was here. She would know what to do. And if not, she might at least be able to talk Harry out of his wild idea. Because they had a lead. It was completely mental and he wanted no part of it, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with any other option.

Spiders. Why did it always have to come down to spiders?

Spiders AND the Forbidden Forest. Merlin, he should have just let the Whomping Willow beat his brains out when he had the chance! A large part of himself wanted to let Harry do it himself. Nobody seemed to understand; he wasn't just a little afraid of spiders. He was genuinely, utterly terrified of spiders. What good would he be passed out in a puddle of his own piss? Hell, with his wand in the shape it was in, what good would he be even if he managed to stay upright?

But as good as his arguments were, he couldn't convince himself. Remembering Malfoy's words, he gave a small whimper. He wanted Hermione dead. And in reality, there was nothing stopping him from sneaking in and killing her. If not Malfoy, there was still whoever was behind all this. Right now, there was at least some hope that the victims would be alright, but if it was decided that they should be finished off...no. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't face years of going from day to day, always looking next to him at the spot where she was supposed to be. He punched his pillow. She had promised him, damn it! She had promised she was going to be there when he finally made something of himself! How could he do it without her? He didn't want to. He wanted her to look at him with that smug look, wanted her to tell him she told him so, wanted...wanted...he didn't know what, but whatever it was, she had to be there.

He took that anger, and held it tightly, letting it engulf his fear. He was going with Harry. He might be completely useless, but he was going. They would figure this thing out, and they would get her back. Not because he was brave, or some kind of hero, but because it was Hermione. Hadn't he once said that there was absolutely nothing that could get him to go into the Forest? He gave a hollow laugh. Even Petrified, she still found ways to prove him wrong. Would she realize what he went through for her? Would she even care? Maybe not. But if he was ever going to prove her right that he could do something amazing, then he had to start somewhere.

Hermione wiped away the tears streaming down her face. "Ron, you stupid boy...you were already amazing. You just couldn't see it."

This was the thing about Ron that neither she nor Harry could ever understand. He could list every failure from the time he could walk, but if you asked him to name at least three good qualities, he was totally stumped.

And it was strange to see him so upset. He had never mentioned to her how much this had bothered him, not even years later. She had always just assumed that the boys had been mildly worried, and that was it. At the time, it would have shocked her to know that he went into the Forest for her, and not just Harry. Now, of course, it made perfect sense. As much as Ron grumbled and complained, when someone he cared for was in trouble, he was always first in line to help. From mountain trolls to holding her while she cried at funerals, Ron was always there.

Beneath her, she felt the softness of the bed harden, and while it remained dark, she was no longer in the confines of his bed, but in some sort of wardrobe. Why was she suddenly so sick and dizzy? The shifts hadn't bothered her before. What could-oh.

For a few moments, the rest of the world faded away for Ron. He was no longer aware of the group of teachers outside, or even of Harry, who stood close enough that he could hear his shallow breathing. One word filled his head; Ginny. Over and over, her name on constant rubbed his eyes, trying to remove the grinning, gap-toothed face of her six year old self from where it seemed to be burned on his retinas. It was a stark contrast from the pale, nervous eleven year old girl that had tried to tell him and Harry something over breakfast. He had known something was wrong. Why hadn't he taken two bloody minutes to listen? Now, he might never get the chance to talk to her again.

He leaned back against the wardrobe. When had he sat down? He didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore. No, that wasn't true, was it? He knew his baby sister was probably dead. A moan caught in his throat. This was going to kill Mum. Merlin, why Ginny? She was a pure-blood! She should've been perfectly safe! Replaying the year over and over again in his head, he tried to figure out what he could have done differently to prevent this from happening. He came up empty, but that didn't lessen the sense of guilt that was threatening to swallow him whole. First Hermione, now Ginny. Why did bad things keep happening to the people he cared about?

He and Ginny had always been close. With only a year between them, and being the only siblings at the Burrow for two years when the twins went off to school, it was pretty much inevitable. More alike than either one would ever be willing to admit, their relationship was a constant ebb and flow; one minute divided by gender and age, the next brought together by a common foe (usually Mum) or interest (Quidditch).

His mind was suddenly full of memories of his sister. Ginny, being fussed and fawned over by all their relatives. Ginny, peeing in his bed and telling everyone he did it. Ginny, spilling ink all over his brand new Chudley Cannons shirt. In other words, being a right painful boil on his arse.

But...Ginny, sneaking up to his room with some apple tart when he was sick. Ginny, taking the blame for the broken window. Ginny, helping him steal the twins' clothes so they had to walk home naked from the pond.

Tears burned at the back of his eyes as he remembered every time he had wished that he hadn't had to deal with a younger sister, or that he didn't have so many siblings to compete with. He had never meant it like this! Never! There had been times when he was furious with her, but he had never, ever, wanted something bad to happen to her. But it had, and here he was, and he didn't know how much more of this he could take. He didn't care what horrible things were happening to her right now; he would give anything to take her place. The year, which had gotten off to a less than promising start, had spun completely out of control.

He took a deep, shaky breath, standing to follow Harry. He had made up his mind.

Maybe he was a shit wizard.

Maybe he was a shit friend.

And maybe he was a shit brother.

None of that mattered anymore. He was going to bring his sister back, or die trying.

Hermione sobbed at the expression of determination on his face; everything he was going through...it was all too much for a thirteen year old to bear. So many people would have broken under the weight, but Ron pushed through it. She knew that Ron's overprotectiveness towards his sister was a sore point for the younger girl, but it stemmed from a very deep love for her coupled with an almost crippling desire to never feel this way again. For so many years, his ability to express his affection for others was poor. The only way he could show he cared was to stand up for them when they neded him. His words, which could sometimes be sharp and cruel, were so seemingly straight forward that many had a hard time looking past them. But his actions...his actions came from his heart and not just his temper. They spoke of a person that would someday, with time, grow and mature into a man with a strong sense of justice for others.

His capacity for caring was also his weakness, for it also left him open to hurt, which, in his youth, left him oftentimes sullen and confused. And ever at the core of this was his family; underneath the shifting layers of youthful selfishness and insecurity was a stone foundation of love, lessons he had learned from his parents at an early age and had woven into the very fiber of his own being. It was this love and loyalty, Hermione knew, that first drew her to him in the first place. This desire to take on the suffering of others was nothing new. It had happened last year in the chess game, and would happen more over the next few years, most notably in the form of a voice calling out to her from a basement, terror lacing his voice...she shook it off. Time for all that later. For now, she needed to pay attention to her new surroundings.

Moonlight shown into his room at the Burrow, the shadows from the trees forming odd shapes on his blanket. He lay with his arms behind his head, waiting for his door to open. Twenty minutes ago, he had heard someone creeping up the stairs to his floor, and now they were standing just outside, the floorboards creaking as they shifted their weight. Slowly, the knob turned, and Ginny shuffled in, closing the door behind her. She stood there as if she was unsure what to do next. His earlier conversation with Hermione came back to him. Apparently she had been right, and Ginny was still upset. She had been silent on the train ride home today, and had gone to her room as soon as she had finished dinner. Therefore, he wasn't entirely surprised to see her here now, though it had been ages since she had needed to come to him at night.

Wordlessly, he shifted closer to the wall and flipped the covers back, and two seconds later she was across the room and diving in next to him. They had never been much for cuddling, but there was a certain comfort in the way their arms brushed together in the small space.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Nah, had too much to think about to fall asleep."

"About everything that happened this year?"

"Hmn."

"Me too...I knew if I fell asleep, I was just going to have more nightmares, so I came up here. Was that okay?"

"'Course it was. Have you...have you been having a lot of nightmares?" Oh, brilliant Ron. She's only been possessed by You-Know-Who. What do you think? That she came up here to have a fucking tea party?

"Yeah, but don't tell Mum. She's worried enough, and I don't need her smothering me any more than she is now. So what were you thinking about? Was it about when Hermione was Petrified?"

He took a deep breath. Just thinking about it made him uneasy, but Hermione had said it was important to let Ginny talk about it.

"Well, that too. And how worried I was when you were, y'know..." he answered gruffly.

Ginny was silent a moment. "I won't apologize again for what happened, because she told me not to, but I am sorry that you were worried about me."

He frowned up at the ceiling. "Who are you talking about?" He had an idea, but wanted to be sure.

"Hermione. I tried to apologize to her after...after everything that had happened. Didn't exactly go how I had planned."

"How so?"

She got mad at me! Can you imagine? She actually got mad at me! Said that I was just as much a victim as she was, probably more so, and that victims should never apologize for something that was the fault of the attacker. Was quite heated about it, really."

Ron snorted. "I doubt you've ever dealt with Hermione when she was 'heated.'"

Ginny giggled. "Maybe not, but the older girls who were saying things about me in the Common Room definitely. got an earful."

He sat up, squinting down at her in the poor lighting. "What? What things? When was all this?"

She shrugged. "Oh, a few days after...I came back. Some of them were whispering things like how unsafe they felt with me around, making sure I heard them. Hermione was livid! You know, I think that was the first time I ever heard her swear?"

Ron chortled. Hermione Granger, using indelicate language? Oh, this was a juicy bit of gossip! He wondered how best to make use of it...

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, it had only been one word! And 'heck' wasn't even really that bad!

"It's strange. I went to Hogwarts thoroughly intending to dislike her."

"You-why?"

"It was stupid. I suppose I was a little jealous of her. For one thing, I thought if she wasn't around, I would be the one spending time with the two of you. And, of course, she's so good at everything that she does, it can get frustrating."

"You never said anything! You could have hung out with us loads of times, but you always were off with people from your own year. I thought you were making friends!" Perfect. Had his sister felt as shut out and lonely as Hermione had been during first year?

She waved a hand to cut him off. "I was! I told you it was stupid, didn't I? Anyway, it didn't last very long. She was always nice enough, and she didn't laugh at me about the...card incident."

He smirked a bit. "Oh, you mean 'eyes as green as-"

"Shut. Up."

"Sorry." Not.

"No you're not. Anyway, she told me I was brave to send it, that not many people would have the guts."

And for good reason. That poem was a bloody embarrassment.

"She told me I was brave about the whole diary thing, too. And...she said...she said she wasn't surprised, since it was only to be expected because I was your sister. Any idea what that meant?"

Bells and whistles and firecrackers went off in his head. Not effing much, just the bloody world! Brave! Because she was his sister! Not Bill's, or Charlie's, or any of the others. His! The praise had him soaring.

"Of course, she also said that at least I was different enough from you that I don't eat like a starving pig in high slops. Now that I could understand."

Oh. Well. That caused his altitude to drop a bit. Still, praise was praise, wasn't it?

"I like her, Ron. I really like her a lot, don't you?"

He dropped back down on his pillow.

"Yeah. She's pretty top shelf."

They were silent for a few moments. "Is it alright if I stay the rest of the night?"

There was the barest hint of a quiver in her voice. "Sure. As long as you promise not to wet the bed."

She kicked him. "Prat! Watch yourself, or I'll Owl Hermione about that pair of knickers you stole from her."

He bolted upright, panicking at her wicked smirk. "What the bloody-I NEVER TOUCHED ANY OF HER KNICKERS!"

"Maybe not, but it'll be fun trying to watch you try to convince her."

He almost lost his temper, then reconsidered. "Fine," he said calmly as he lay back down. "You do that. I'll mention to Harry how you used his toothbrush while he was here to get an indirect kiss."

She gave a little shriek. "You had better not, you dirty liar!"

"Prat."

"Wanker."

"Well, not with you in here. That would just be-"

"You are filthy and disgusting, and I've just been mentally scarred for life. I fully intend to sue for damages."

He chuckled, a yawn breaking it in the middle. "G'night, Gin."

"Night, Ron."

He turned his back to her, getting a tight grip on the covers so they would be harder for her to steal. Ginny was a strong kid. She was going to be fine. She was brave, he grinned. Like him. For some reason, summer suddenly seemed like a long time.

He would Owl Hermione in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

Welcome to the first half of year three! Thanks to everyone who have reviewed so far; your support is greatly appreciated. A special shout-out Happy Birthday to Wazlibb88! (yes I know I'm late. Sorry the birthday cake is a bit stale.)

Please remember as you read that this is only the first part of book three, so if these chapters feel like they end abruptly, the plot will be continued in chapters 12 and 13.

**IMPORTANT STORY NOTES: As requested, I tried to put adult Ron and Hermione in italics for easier reading, but sometimes this site won't format them for me. If it hasn't, let me know, and I will do something else**.

**Second: One reader pointed out that Hermione is crying frequently. There are a few reasons for this. The first being that not only are they watching these memories, but they are experiencing the other's emotions themselves, so they are having to deal with the feelings of two people at once, which can be intense, especially in situations where they realize they are the cause of the pain. Also, while Hermione has tears, she isn't full on weeping and wailing. Her eyes are moist, the same as yours would get after listening to an emotionally charged speech. Things will get harder for them at later moments in the story. I tried to keep it in character, and there are many points in the book where Hermione cries. ** **She is a strong character, but not afraid to show her emotions.**

**Third: A few people have PMed me asking me to have a companion fic of moments that I either didn't cover, or shortened for the sake of time, in which each new moment would have it's own chapter. I would be more than willing to do this if any of you are interested, so please let me know!**

**Now, on with the story, and be careful. You never know if a Grimm is lurking around the corner...**

_Ron watched in amusement as various articles of clothing whizzed past his head in a flurry of materials and colors. Hermione was standing at her wardrobe, holding up each shirt, skirt, or pair of trousers before slinging it behind her. If he didn't know better, he would think she was getting ready for a hot date.*_

Hermione glared at the remaining clothes that were still hanging. How could one person own so much, and still have nothing to wear? She needed to hurry; they would be leaving in about an hour for Diagon Alley where she would meet the Weasleys, and she wanted to look her be-

Wait. What on earth was she thinking? It was just Ron and his family, after all. None of them would care what she wore. Shaking her head at her strange behavior, she settled on a pair of jeans and a blue and white striped boat-necked t-shirt. There, that wasn't so hard, was it?

_*Ron turned away as she began to change, bouncing on his heels as her excitement affected him. He could tell how much she was looking forward to today, and grinned, remembering. This must be the day before they started third year, the year he privately referred to as 'The Year of the Rat.' He and his parents had stopped by nearly three weeks earlier before their trip to Egypt to invite Hermione to stay with them at the Leaky Cauldron and shop for their school supplies. It had been the first time he had ever asked to do something with her without Harry, and he had been nervous and excited at the same time._

Feelings that seemed to be mirrored in Hermione. Aside from her family trip, she had spent the majority of her break keeping up to speed on subjects she would have learned in a Muggle school. While losing herself in this would have once been enjoyable, she now found it was not wholly satisfying. She found herself missing Harry and Ron; she even missed them rolling their eyes at her lectures. She wondered if Ginny was doing as well as she said in her letters, and if Percy had been made Head Boy. When she caught herself missing the twins' pranks, she knew she had a problem.

Then, several weeks ago, Ron and his parents had come over to ask about today, and had ended up staying the entire day at her house. Which was why she was wondering, as she laced up her trainers, how it was possible that she still missed Ron as much as if she hadn't seen him since the train ride home. She put it down to curiosity about his trip. Yes. She was interested to hear his take on Egypt. Perfectly natural.

_Ron snorted as he followed her downstairs. It was becoming obvious that she was smack dab in Egypt herself; in a little river called 'De Nile,' as the old joke went._

_The living room door opened, unsurprisingly enough, into the Leaky, the smell of Tom's famous cottage pie filling the air. Ron stepped neatly out of the way of the mass of gingers that came barreling at Hermione._

Hermione found herself caught up in a whirlwind of Weasleys; Ron, Ginny, Fred and George were all talking to her at once, while Mrs. Weasley clucked around them, trying to settle them down. Mr. Weasley was shaking hands with her parents, and Percy was standing off to the side, looking suspiciously as if he was trying to pretend he didn't belong with the rest of them. Poor Percy. She always got the feeling that he was the odd one out, a feeling she could relate with all too well. Though not right now; it was a dizzying experience having so many people demanding her attention at once, and she barely managed to squeeze out a proper goodbye to her parents, sending a quick nod of thanks at Fred and George, who, at their mother's orders, were carrying her trunk upstairs.

Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a tight hug. "So good to see you, Hermione dear! You're sharing a room with Ginny. I'll just pop up and make sure the boys haven't got up to anything they shouldn't have. I swear, those two..." she trailed off as she bustled away, leaving Hermione to draw some much needed air into her lungs.

She smiled at Ron, who looked a bit sheepish at his mother's affections. His eyes scanned her up and down, and she had a brief flash of wishing she had worn something a bit dressier, but it came and went so quickly that she didn't have time to notice.

"Wow, Hermione. You're quite dark. Guess your family made it to the beach alright, then?"

Hermione got her first real look at him since she arrived. He was wearing a brown and green striped shirt, and his jeans were just on the verge of being too short; she had no doubt that in a month or so, they would no longer cover his ankles. His hair was a shade lighter from the sun, and his face...

"Yes, we did. I always seem to manage to get a tan within about two days. Mum says I get it from her side of the family. How was your trip? You look...tanned?"

Ron snorted. "Hardly. Gingers don't tan, Hermione. Our freckles just blend together for awhile. Not the same thing, but at least I won't be as blindingly white for a week or so."

"Speak for yourself, Ron. You can blame it on being a ginger all you want, but the rest of us managed just fine," teased Ginny, giving Hermione a quick one armed hug.

She peered into the younger girl's eyes, satisfied by what she saw. Ginny must have been telling the truth when she had said she was doing better, and the nightmares had lessened.

"Yeah, yeah, you got the 'glowing Prewett complexion' blabbbity blabbity blab. Why don't you join Mum? You know she's just gonna yell for you in a minute anyway," he said, ignoring her when she stuck out her tongue.

His eyes brightened excitedly as he held out something for Hermione to see. "Have you been getting the Prophet? We actually made the front page!"

"Merlin's sake, Ron, are you at it again? Why don't we just attach the thing to your shirt with a Sticking Charm?" Fred drawled, coming up behind Ron.

Hermione was puzzled to see that the twins' normal good humor seemed a little strained, but she was distracted by the flush of embarrassment from Ron. Couldn't they just let him have his moment? It's not like things like this happened to him very often, so if he wanted to show off the picture, what was the harm?

"It's a very nice picture. I like the traditional dress. Which one is Bill? I don't think I've ever seen a picture of him. Or Charlie, for that matter."

_Ron watched as his younger self lit up at her interest. Had he really been that pathetically needy for attention? No wonder the twins had given him such a hard time! And to be fair, he had already shown it to about six other people before Hermione arrived, if memory served him correctly. Also, Mum had been all worked up, and they had got the brunt of it._

"GINEVRA! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GET YOUR TRUNK ORGANIZED!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed from upstairs.

Ginny winced at the use of her full name, and rolled her eyes at Hermione. "She's been in a snit ever since we got here earlier. I better go see if I can calm her down."

"Good luck with that. She took one look at us, and nearly bit our heads off. And this time, we hadn't even done anything!" George said bitterly as Ginny trotted up the steps.

"You two might want to disappear before she starts in on you. Maybe you'll run into Harry while you're out." Fred added.

"BOYS!" came another yell from above.

"Go on, it's too late for us! Save yourselves!" exclaimed Fred dramatically, as he and George pushed her and Ron towards the door.

Hermione resisted at first, not wanting to be rude to their mother, but Ron tugged her along, obviously having no reservations of his own. Ron slowed down once they were a little ways down the street, dropping her wrist. Something Fred said held her attention.

"What did he mean about Harry? Is he here?" she had been under the impression that they wouldn't see him until tomorrow.

"I forgot you hadn't heard. Seems like he got in a bit of trouble and has been staying here for a while. We haven't seen him, though. Tom said he'd already gone out for the day."

Hermione was instantly alert. "Trouble? What sort of trouble? Is he alright?"

She kept coming up with different scenarios, each involving the wretched people that he lived with. Ron's explanation was short on details, and her worry lessened to be replaced by frustration. Didn't he know he could be expelled? What had he been thinking? Apparently she had been talking aloud, because Ron had his hands raised in surrender.

"Easy, Hermione! I didn't have anything to do with it, so save it for Harry, yeah?"

She sighed. He was right; she would let Harry have it later, but right now, she just wanted to enjoy her day. "Sorry. Why don't we get started shopping? I have a long list of books-"

"Of course you do."

"-and I want to get there before any of them are sold out. What about you? Have you already been out yet?"

"Nah. We only got here about half an hour before you. I need to get my books too, and...a wand."

They headed in the direction of Ollivander's, but Hermione pulled up short outside of Madam Malkin's. "Oh, I had forgotten about my robes! Can we run in really quick?"

"Hermioneeeee," Ron whined. "Do we really have to? I hate shopping for clothes."

She could have kicked herself. Of course he would be wearing his brothers' old robes, and going in would probably make him feel uncomfortable. Luckily, she had been in for a fitting last week, and only needed to pick them up. He relaxed considerably once she told him, and stood outside the door as she dashed in, picked up her parcel, and dashed back out. They agreed to save their books for last, since they would be too heavy to carry around for very long. Ollivander's was quiet, most students having already purchased their wands. Ron went up front, and Hermione trailed after him. She was relieved that he was getting a new wand. He had been miserable all last year, and she didn't think his confidence could take another one like it. As he tried out the wands, she moved off to the side, out of the line of fire. She herself had blown up two tables before she had found the right one, and didn't relish the idea of being caught in a similar blast. Once Ron had found one that worked for him, she focused her attention on the wand cleaning supplies while he paid, pretending she didn't notice the expression on his face as he painfully counted out his money.

Flourish and Blotts was next, and Hermione inhaled deeply as she went through the door. The smell of the pages always put her in a good mood, as did the prospect of walking back out with a thick stack of books. She pulled her list out of her pocket, leading the way, Ron following reluctantly. He peered over her shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! How many lessons are you taking? Are you trying to finish school by the end of the year, or something?" he asked in a stunned voice.

"Don't be silly. I'm not taking that many more. I just want to take advantage of everything that's available."

"Better you than me. I don't see how you're going to have time to breathe, let alone do anything else. Try not to overdo it, okay? Remember, I've seen what you get like when it's time for exams, and with this load, you'll be even worse."

While she was confident in her abilities, Hermione was touched that he would be concerned. To be honest, he was one of the reasons she wasn't really worried. She knew she had a tendency to push herself too hard, but Ron always found a way to pull her out of herself, and as much as she grumbled about it, she appreciated it.

_Ron remembered quite well. It was always a challenge to get Hermione to relax, and he was the only one who ever seemed to bother. Harry would help him, but on his own, he would usually let her have her own way, which wasn't always best for her. Sadly, he wasn't going to be much good on that front this year..._

After wrestling the frightening books with teeth into submission, they stepped back out, blinking at the bright sunlight. Ron's stomach gave a loud growl, and Hermione looked at her watch.

"Sounds like it's lunch time. Where do you want to go?"

"Mum gave me some money, so it's on me. I say we go to Fortescue's. A double sundae sounds like it would hit the spot."

Hermione frowned. "The ice cream shop? Don't you think we should get some real food? And I can pay for my own; you really don't have to."

Ron rolled his eyes. "C'mon Hermione. Live a little, why don't you? It won't kill you to eat dessert first every once and awhile. And I know I don't have much, but I think I can manage to afford lunch."

Her first reaction was to protest, claiming that her parents preferred that she follow a healthy diet. Additionally, it was only polite to turn down his offer. But for some reason, she paused. There was a certain tense quality about him that made her realize that this was bigger than ice cream. How often did he get the chance to do something like this for someone? This might even be the first time. She knew his family's financial situation was a touchy subject, and if she kept making a big deal about it, she ran the risk of offending him. And they had been having such a nice time; they had managed to go the whole day without arguing even once.

"I swear, we haven't even started our first term yet, and you're already corrupting me. Fine, but if I get a cavity from this, I'm blaming you. And this means that I'm buying the first round of butterbeers when we get to go to Hogsmeade, alright?"

The slightly lopsided grin and the sparkle his eyes always got when he thought he was getting away with something made it worth it, and for a moment, it was like she had taken a step and the ground hadn't been there to meet her.

"Sorted! Let's go. I think I heard someone say that there are some new flavors out."

_She had been right. It was the first time in his life he had got to treat a friend to anything, and he had felt remarkably grown up. The fact that he had gotten her to do something her parents might not approve of had made it even sweeter._

They had picked out their flavors, Ron paying proudly as they took their heavy bowls to sit outside under an umbrella. The taste of the illicit hot fudge made her groan, and he smirked knowingly, but said nothing.

As they ate, he told her about his holiday, his eyes gleaming as he recounted all of the things he had seen. Hermione was only mildly surprised at all of the facts he seemed to retain. It just proved he was perfectly capable of learning, if he was interested enough. Now if only she could find a way to harness that when it came to school...

They were nearly done when they spotted a familiar mop of black hair in the crowd. They called Harry over, and Hermione was pleased to see he was alright, despite the trouble he was in. Still, there was a tiny, quiet part of her that wished that he had gone straight to the pub. She had found she quite liked being alone with Ron without any outside pressures, and she couldn't help but feel that the dynamic changed when they were around other people. They both became more...defensive. Maybe they were too aware of themselves, too worried about proving their own point, less willing to back down in front of others. Not to say that they didn't bicker in private, but without the embarrassment of witnesses, it was usually less heated.

_Ron had felt the same way. This was the second time they had ever been alone outside of school, and he had been pleasantly surprised that they had got along so well. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see Harry, because he was. He had just wanted to see how long they could keep it up._

The three of them moved along to the petshop, Hermione looking forward to getting an owl of her own. Errol was sweet, but she felt guilty every time he flopped through her window, not only for the strain it put on him, but for tying up the Weasley's only owl.

The shop had a musty, furry/feathery odor about it, that while strong was not wholly unpleasant. Wings fluttered, cats meowed, and things in murky aquariums made various gurgling noises. Hermione walked around, wondering how she was going to decide. Ron and Harry were at the counter with Scabbers, which she couldn't understand. Yes, it was sad that he was obviously on his last leg, but Ron didn't even like him, so why was he putting so much effort into it? It made more sense to just make him as comfortable as possible until the end, which, judging by his appearance, wasn't too far off.

Suddenly, a howling orange beast was on top of Ron, causing absolute pandemonium. The air was thick with fur and (courtesy of Ron) curses, which ended with both boys racing from the store in search of the frightened rat.

"Oh Crookshanks, you bad boy, what are we going to do with you? You'll never find a home at this rate," the flustered witch behind the counter lamented.

Hermione took a closer look. There was a massive ginger cat, with what she considered to be grumpy yet regal features. He was one of the most lovely shades of ginger she had ever seen, and his fur was thick and soft looking. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke him, and he instantly began to purr under her hand.

The saleswitch clucked. "Now, why can't you be like that with all the customers? He must like you, dear. Normally he's right stand-offish. Nobody seems to want the poor thing. Not willing to look past the surface, I suppose."

With a pang, Hermione felt an instant solidarity with the cat. She knew how lonely it was to be wanted, waiting for someone to accept you for what you were; knowing that that might not ever happen.

"I'll take him," the words were out before she even knew what she was saying, but she didn't regret it. An owl would have been nice, but Crookshanks had a highly intelligent look in his eyes, and she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him behind. Besides, she thought with an inner giggle, it appeared as if she had a soft spot for grumpy gingers.

_"Oi! Ginger I'll give you, but grumpy...well. I suppose I'll have to give that to you too."_

Paying for her new cat, she grabbed the medicine that Ron had left behind, eager to show off her pet. She knew he and Ron had got off to a rough start, but then, they had as well, hadn't they? She was sure, that given time, the two of them would get on as well as she and Ron did. Smiling, she left the shop, Crookshanks swaying loosely in her arms.

_Well, she was partially right. He would be on the same terms with both of them, except it would be because his relationship with her deteriorated, and not because he began skipping through fields with the little monster. Third year had been brutal in that regard._

_The rest of the day and part of the next was skipped, leaving off at a moment he had long been curious over. McGonagall had dismissed Harry and him, while she took Hermione into her office._

"Well, Miss Granger. Are you ready to try what we discussed over the summer? If you feel it would be too much, you have only to say so. I caution you now that you will be under a great deal of strain, and it might be best if you only took the regular course load."

Hermione met Professor McGonagall's gaze steadily. She had already weighed the pros and cons of her decision, and was sure that she could handle it. She had to. Over the summer, she had come to the painful conclusion that she was...drifting apart from her family. They still loved her greatly, and she them, but things were no longer the same between them. There was so much about her new world that they didn't understand, and the only common ground she had been able to find was her schooling. They might not get the subjects, but they understood things like dedication and work ethics. And, practically speaking, she needed to know as much about this world as she could. She could see now that she could never go back to a strictly Muggle lifestyle, and if something were to happen to her parents, she would be alone here. She needed all the information she could get so when the time came, she could take care of herself. Lack of control was probably the thing that frightened her the most, and the thought of having to face the future without a well thought out plan kept her up some nights, worried she was going to make choices that would limit her later in life. No, it was best she take as many subjects as she could. She refused to limit herself.

"I'm sure I'll be able to do this. I've already made a revision guide, and if I stick to it, there should be no problems," she stated confidently.

McGonagall gave a faint smile. "I'm afraid that you'll learn, in time, that life is no respecter of plans and schedules. Be that as it may, I'm sure you will do admirably," she reached into a drawer of her desk, taking out a small wooden box. Inside, on a long, thin chain, was a Time-Turner. She handed it to Hermione, who put it carefully around her neck, tucking it into her shirt.

"Now, I trust you have read the instructions for it's use, and understand it thoroughly?"

"Yes Professor. I memorized everything you sent, and didn't bring them with me, just as you asked."

"Good. There is only one thing left to warn you about. I know I have already mentioned it before, but I cannot stress enough the importance of secrecy. No one must know you possess this, including Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Are you sure you will be able to keep this from them? I am aware that the three of you are close, and they might notice anything out of the ordinary."

Highly doubtful, she thought with a wry smile. As close as the three of them were, she was just always a little bit to the outside. She knew they didn't mean to exclude her (at least not most of the time), but she was aware that they didn't pay that close attention, brushing most things off as 'Hermione being mental.' It was extremely unlikely they would notice anything short of her waltzing into the Great Hall wearing a full set of Quidditch gear. This thought caused a small amount of bitterness, for which Ron seemed to take most of the blame.

"I'm sure they won't. In the unlikely event that they do, I'll just mutter something about 'girl problems', and they'll be more than happy to drop the subject."

McGonagall gave a small chuckle. "I can see that you will take care of things in your usual capable manner. Just remember, if it ever becomes too much, just return the Time-Turner to me. It won't affect your marks in the slightest, nor will it reflect badly on you personally."

"Thank you, Professor. I'll be sure to keep it in mind."

"Excellent. Now, you should be getting back to the others. I'm sure they're curious as to what has become of you."

Hermione thanked her once more before leaving. She would not be returning the Time-Turner. She had never given up on anything academically in her life, and she wasn't about to start now. As long as Harry was careful, which she was sure (possibly over optimistically) that he would be, she should be able to put most of her focus into her schooling. And really, as long as Harry was safe, what could possibly be important enough to distract her?

_Oh, not much. Ron thought guiltily. Just a pet war, a freeze out from your two best friends, a hippogriff trial, and a psychopathic murderer on the loose. Just your average schoolgirl problems._

_This memory had been short, but it said a lot about Hermione. He had always thought he had the market cornered on insecurity, but she had loads of her own. She just happened to be better at hiding it. He had never given much thought to how isolated she must feel. Though she spent about the same amount of time away from her family as he did his, they were at least in the same world. There was no going back and forth, no guilt for having to choose one over the other. Hermione was loyal, and she somehow felt as if she was betraying her family. Rubbish, of course, especially in the light of knowing that the three of them had a good relationship in the future. But that knowledge didn't do this young Hermione any good; right now, she was dealing with the fear of one day going home to find that they had become strangers. Truthfully, that might have happened to some Muggle-borns at some point in time, but Ron hoped she would learn soon that even if that happened to her, she wouldn't be alone. Just as she had with Harry, his mum would have taken her in._

_With a shock, a pink jumper flew through him, followed by a pair of striped tights. He stepped to the side, experiencing a heavy dose of deja vu. Same situation, different location. Hermione was at it again, only this time she wasn't alone, as Lavender and Parvati were sitting on a bed, watching her avidly._

Hermione was a mass of conflicted emotions, all centering around the fact that today was the day of the first visit to Hogsmeade. There were so many things she wanted to see, so many interesting things she had heard about! But hot on the heels of that thought was guilt; she felt horrid about going without Harry, and she and Ron had actually discussed whether or not they should go. Reluctantly, she had decided they should. Harry would hate feeling like they stayed out of pity, and she knew Ron at least wouldn't be able to hide his disappointment. Harry would be able to tell, and it would just upset him even more. Although in the big scheme of things, a missed trip was small in comparison to the danger he was facing. What he didn't seem to understand was that the stakes were far greater than they had been in the previous years; he wasn't just doing dangerous things, but someone was actively out to kill him. Hermione was tired of being the only one of the three of them to take it seriously. Ron couldn't seem to make up his mind. One minute he was worried for Harry, and the next he was on Harry's side, acting as if it was no big deal. She wondered if he really didn't get it, or if he was trying to fool himself into believing things weren't as bad as they were. Either way, she was a bit annoyed at the lack of support.

"Hermione, who are you going with?" Parvati asked from the bed behind her.

"Hm? Oh. I'm going with Ron. Harry can't leave the castle, so he can't come with us."

"That's disappointing. The way you were acting, we thought you had a date." Lavender said from her spot next to her friend.

Hermione froze, her jaw clenching as she mentally counted to ten. Drat! She was doing it again! What was wrong with her? Briskly, She grabbed a dark purple jumper and a pair of jeans.

"Of course not! Why would you think that?" she replied, unbuttoning the top to her pajamas.

_Ron turned around again. Girls changed too damn much! He knew it was probably foolish, but it felt wrong to watch her in these moments, even though they were in a relationship and he had permission to view these memories. It didn't change the fact that they hadn't been together at this point, and she was currently underage. He just wished she could keep her clothes on until they proceeded to more...interesting times._

"Well, you seem awfully excited, and I've never known you to worry this much over what you're going to wear. Although I'm relieved to hear it's not a date, now that I know you're going with Ron Weasley. He is SO not date-worthy."

Hermione finished tugging her jumper over her head and frowned, her hair frizzing from the combination of being rubbed against wool and her roommate's comment.

"What does that mean?" she asked, trying to keep the note of hostility out of her voice. While not on close terms with the other girls, she found it best to keep things as civil as possible. Rooming with someone you were at war with was not an experience she would like to have.

_Ron winced at that last thought. That had been something he had never really considered, and was uncomfortably aware that things were going to get unpleasant in a few years. Best not to think of that now. "Yes, Lavender. Do tell."_

"Come on, Hermione, I know he's your friend, but really! He's not very attractive, and his fashion sense...well, it's best not to speak of it. I just don't think he's very appealing."

She had to get a firm grip on her temper, before she reacted badly. Of all the shallow, petty reasons! And they weren't even valid! How was Ron unattractive? He was a nice height, and his hair was a marvellous shade of red, which happened to be her personal favorite hair color. She knew he thought his nose was too long, but she didn't think it was that noticeable. Besides, it was thin and straight, which was really all you could hope for in a nose. And when he smiled, you didn't even notice it anyway. That was actually his best feature; when Ron smiled, really smiled, he did it with his whole face, and his happiness was contagious.

"And just what is it that you find appealing?" she asked in a falsely even voice, happily distracting herself from wondering why Ron's smile affected her so much.

"Oh, you know! Someone handsome and charming, rugged and strong; a real man. Like a Quidditch player or something. I think Quidditch players are just dreamy, don't you?" Lavender swooned.

_Wow, Lav. Irony is gonna come back and bite you in the arse, you know that? Ron thought with a short laugh._

"I suppose so. But you're not being fair to Ron. There's nothing wrong with his looks, and as for his clothes, well, it's not as if he gets to pick out his own."

Lavender shrugged. "Fine. But you can't argue the fact that he can be a git."

Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Because, in fact, she had been on the receiving end of Ron's barbs too often to protest.

"He's not that bad." she said weakly, still wanting to defend him, even if there was some truth to it.

"Whatever. Come on, Parvati. It's almost time to go, and I don't want to be late."

Hermione watched the other two girls walk out as she slid on a pair of black boots, before pulling on her gray peacoat and following at a slower pace. She hoped today went well; things between her and Ron had been strained lately, and she hoped that getting away from the castle would help. Guiltily, she thought of Harry, then shook her head. There was nothing that could be done, so she would just have to get him something nice to make up for it.

_Ron followed her out of the room, which led them out of the castle as well, where she was walking alongside him, chiding him for not dressing warmer._

"Ron, are you sure you're dressed warm enough? We won't be getting back till after sunset, and the walk from the village will be cold," she fussed, worried that he was only wearing jeans and a thick, striped jumper.

"I'll be fine, don't worry so much. Besides, have you seen the scarf Mum sent with me? Hideous. I've begged her to make a solid colored one for one's so bad, I'll even take maroon."

Hermione smiled sympathetically. The scarf in question was a riot of stripes in different thicknesses and colors, reminding her of the one worn by her father's favorite television character.

"But more importantly, did you lock that beast of yours up? I left Scabbers behind, since it's too cold for him to be out."

She released a heavy breath, which hung in the air in front of her face. There it was, the hostility she had been dreading.

"I left him sleeping on my bed. Ron, Can we please not fight about this today? It's bad enough Harry couldn't come; I'd like to at least be able to enjoy the day with you."

He seemed taken aback, as if he was surprised by her lack of desire to fight. The hard look that had been on his face softened into a sheepish smile. "Sounds good. Truce until we get back, then?"

Her spine sagged with relief. For a moment, she had been afraid that he wouldn't let it go. "Perfect. Thanks, Ron."

His smile turned impish. "No problem. Besides, if I remember right, you owe me a butterbeer. How could I collect if we were in the middle of a row?"

She smacked his arm, laughing. "Should've known you would have an ulterior motive."

"What can I say? I'm the product of thirteen years living with Fred and George."

"Oh dear. Speaking of your brothers, I hope they don't plan on buying anything too-Ron! Look! I can see the village, just up ahead. Come on!" she grabbed his hand, pulling him along behind her.

_He had been fully prepared to spend the day arguing, if only to avoid listening to her fret about Harry. Not that he wasn't worried about him too, because he was. A lot. And he wished Harry had been able to come, but chewing over it like a cow with it's cud wouldn't do anyone any good, and he had been saving his pocket money for months for this day. When she didn't start in about Harry, and said that she wanted to enjoy the day together, even in light of how things had been between them, his anger had thawed. It had reminded him of the day he had spent at her house, and the few hours before Harry had shown up at Diagon Alley. Being with Hermione was fun. Loads different than Harry of course, but still, he was finding these times alone to be special in their own way._

_When she had grabbed his hand, he had almost tripped. It wasn't anything she hadn't done before, except this time, she wasn't dragging Harry along at her other side. There was some kind of subtle difference, only he hadn't had a clue what it was at the time. Now, he could see, it was because of a new intimacy of the contact. Before, it had either been the three of them, or in some emotionally charged, frightened moment. But that day they were just Ron and Hermione, just the two of them out to have a good time. It sparked something in his subconscious, something he wasn't ready to understand yet, but which was filed away for later. When he was older, he would think back on it, and the absolute rightness of her smaller hand in his._

_Snow obscured his vision, and he knew the memories were changing. Still, that day was clear in his mind; Zonko's and Honeyduke's had been the jewels of his day, but almost as much had been the fun of watching Hermione's reactions. She had zipped from place to place, her eyes wide in wonder at things she had never seen before, things she had only read about. He had been strikingly reminded of his father, and the comparison made him feel considerably warmer towards her. She had an odd way of looking at things he took for granted that had him thinking in new directions, which was interesting. Sometimes, though, especially later on, it made him uncomfortable and guilty, house-elves being a main sticking point...but that was next year._

_The lead weight in the pit of his stomach, and the sense of hopelessness that hung over him like a cloud signalled that he had moved on to the unpleasant part of third year; all over a damn rat that had turned out not to be worth his own weight in hippogriff shit. He released a pained hiss off air, the backs of his eyes stinging with threatening tears. Hermione was sitting on her bed with the curtains drawn, her body wracked with sobs a she cried into her pillow. It was obvious that she was miserable, and with a sinking feeling, he was sure he was the cause of it. She looked so pathetic, he found himself reaching out to stroke her hair, cursing his inability to comfort her._

The noise from the party in the Common Room could be clearly heard, but Hermione was feeling far from celebratory. Everything seemed to be piling up on her. The Time-Turner was beginning to be far more stressful than she would have imagined, and between that and scouring the library for anything that could help Buckbeak, she was coming closer and closer to a complete mental collapse.

The tension between her and Ron had been running high since she bought Crookshanks, but things had got so much worse now, and she didn't see any hope of it getting better. There had been one shining moment when he had stood up to Snape in her defense, that she had thought...what had she thought, exactly? That he would suddenly decide that their friendship mattered more than whatever they were fighting about? Not likely. Ron probably would have done that for anyone (well, non-Slytherin), and she had been foolish to think it was anything personal.

_Ron winced. That wasn't exactly true. He would've been sympathetic, and think they had got a raw deal, but confronting Snape was something he would only really do for Harry or Hermione. Even though they had been on the brink of the horrible fight at the time, he still didn't like seeing anyone else hurt Hermione. In a strange, twisted way, it had seemed much worse when someone else did it, because even when he hurt her, he cared about her. It was lousy reasoning, he knew, but it was how he felt._

And then came that stupid broom. Why couldn't Harry and Ron see how suspicious that was? His broom had already been tampered with once before, and that was before someone was out to kill him! If he had used the broom, there was a very good possibility that, at the very least, he could have been gravely injured. What if he had been killed? Or, what if he had let someone else ride it first? That most likely would have been Ron, and if something had happened to him, she knew Harry would never forgive himself. To make matters worse, she suspected Ron had been more stubborn over it than usual because of the fight going on between them. She might have been able to talk him around if he hadn't been in the mood to turn everything she said into a chance to contradict her.

And even that was starting to fade, but then he found those bloodstains...and to be honest, she didn't understand why he was taking it so hard. Yes, it was sad, but Scabbers had seemed to be dying anyway, and Ron had always acted as if he couldn't stand the animal and would be better off without him. But no, it was just one more thing to blame her for. She had tried to keep Crookshanks in her room, she honestly had! But half the time he snuck out with one of her roommates, or slid between her legs without her noticing. She had never had a pet before, and hadn't realized cats could be so sneaky.

She hated this. She missed Ron, but had no idea how to go about fixing things. Unsurprisingly, Harry had, if not fully siding with Ron, then at least stayed with him most of the time. It was understandable, but it still hurt. Having never had friends before, she had no experience to draw on, and was afraid to make the first move. Especially now that he never spoke directly to her, only throwing cutting remarks in her direction. In fact, he looked at her as if he absolutely hated her, and she was too afraid to have that confirmed to talk to him. It hurt to even be in the same room, so she usually found herself drifting from the library to empty classrooms, or any other deserted location around the castle to work alone. Being alone had never really bothered her much when she was younger, but now that she knew what it was like to have friends, her days seemed so...empty. Seeing him at meals and lessons was like being constantly hungry, but not allowed to eat the food.

_Not for the first time, and definitely not for the last, Ron found himself hating the boy he had been. He had been so sure that Hermione hadn't cared at all, and was just going on as if nothing was the matter. Spitefully, he had taken every chance to get a dig at her, hurt because she would never come out and admit she had been wrong. In his mind, it had been simple; all she had to do was apologize, and, after a bit of grumbling on his part, he would have forgiven her. But she hadn't even acknowledged that it was important to him, and he had felt belittled by that. It had never crossed his mind that she didn't know what she needed to do, or that his reactions had scared her off even trying. The more he saw of their past, the more he was surprised that she had ever come to love him._

She couldn't go on like this. She felt lost and afraid, with no one to turn to to advise or comfort her. It was making her sick with grief, and she didn't think the end of the year could come fast enough, when she could go home and get away from everything.

Home. Of course.

Releasing a final, shuddery sob, she reached in her bedside table for her stationary, and did what she should have done from the start.

'Dear Mum, I need your help. I think I may have made a very big mistake, and I don't know how to fix it...'


	11. Chapter 11

Ron stood next to his fireplace, nervously waiting for his parents. The three of them were going to the Grangers', and he wasn't sure what to expect. He hadn't been out in the Muggle world very much, and was afraid he was going to make a fool of himself. Or that his parents would save him the trouble. It could be worse, though. At least the twins weren't coming. They had been given orders to look after Ginny, which was a laugh. Everyone knew it would actually be Ginny looking after Fred and George.

Initially, the plan had been to invite Hermione over to spend part of the summer at the Burrow, but then they had won the trip to Egypt, so that hadn't worked out. Now they were going to see if she could come to Diagon Alley the day before they had to leave for school, and meet them at the Leaky. Her parents were inclined to say yes, but they still wanted to visit with his family and get to know them better before sending their daughter off into a world that they couldn't access by themselves with near strangers. His dad had leapt at the chance, and Ron was just hoping his mum could keep him under control.

"Ready to be off then, little brother?" Fred asked from behind him, causing Ron to spin around and stare suspiciously. It would be just like the twins to pull some sort of prank that would turn his skin purple or something.

"Give dear Hermione our love for us, won't you? That is, if you're not too busy giving her yours, you sly dog!" said George, slapping him on the back.

Did he mention he could cheerfully strangle his brothers?

"Ron! Where are-oh, good, you're already ready. Fred, George, I expect you to behave while we're gone, understand? Keep an eye on Ginny, and please; none of your experiments on Percy." Mrs. Weasley directed as she crossed the room to the fireplace, her husband behind her.

Ron caught the eager gleam in his father's eye, and groaned inwardly. This was going to be embarrassing, he could tell.

_Poor Ron, always expecting the worst. The visit had gone quite smoothly, and their parents had ended up getting along very well. Her parents had been able to tell that Arthur and Molly were trustworthy, warm-hearted people that would take good care of their daughter, and they were comfortable with the idea of sending her off with them. In fact, after this visit, the four of them traded letters regularly._

The Floo, which had been connected to the Grangers' for the day, spat them out into a bright, clean living room in shades of blue, with pale wooden furniture. Ron took one look, saw how nice it was, and was instantly glad Hermione wasn't going to be able to come to the Burrow. It was horribly shabby in comparison, and even though he knew she didn't care about things like that, he didn't want her to see just how different the two of them were. As he stood there while her parents shook hands with his, he was acutely aware of every threadbare section of his clothing, the shortness of his jeans, and the thin layer of soot that was sure to be clinging to him. Surreptitiously, he tried to brush himself off, but couldn't tell if he was doing any good.

"Ron!"

He turned at the sound of Hermione's voice, where she was coming through the door to another room. He was relieved to see her dressed casually in denim shorts and a light pink sleeveless top, but something distracted him as she walked across the room.

Tits. Why did Hermione have tits? When did she get them? They weren't huge by any means, but they were definitely there, and it was a strain to keep from staring.

_I kept them in my bookbag, of course. Honestly!_

Abruptly, he was embarrassed. Why was he even looking? It was Hermione, for Merlin's sake! You didn't stare at a friend's tits; it just wasn't done. Even if they were fairly interesting tits. Nice shape, really...BLOODY HELL. This was ridiculous. Obviously he needed to get out more if Hermione was able to get a rise out of him. Surely, she was more of a sister to him, right? Right. No more nonsense about her tits, then. In fact, he would stop even thinking the word, as he had done so far too much already. Tits, that is.

"...Ron? Ron! Are you listening at all?"

"Say wha? I mean, sorry, must be dizzy from the Floo." Yes Ron, brilliant save. It looks like she actually bought it!

Oblivious to the perverted workings of the teenage male mind, Hermione repeated herself. "I said, would you like to come upstairs while our parents talk?"

Ron blinked. The curious part of him wanted to say yes, but he was worried about leaving his parents alone. At least if he was down here, he could try to do some damage control, an issue that was bound to occur, given the way his dad was eyeing a black box against one of the walls. Hermione seemed to be able to tell what he was thinking.

"Look, I know you think it might be better if we stayed here, but do you really want to sit there while our mums tell stories about when we were little kids? Because I don't."

Just the idea made him turn an unhealthy shade of green under his freckles. "Lead the way!"

"I suspected you would see it my way. Let's go." Turning to leave the room, she said over her shoulder, "Where are Ginny and the twins? I assumed they were coming too."

"Did you really want the twins let loose in your house? No, Mum has Ginny watching them at home. Though, now that you mention it, I wouldn't put it past them to try to sneak along."

"I suppose Fred and George might be a little...overwhelming. Even if I had already told Mum and Dad what to expect from them."

"Oh yeah? What was that?"

"Mayhem. Complete and total mayhem."

Ron laughed as they came to a set of stairs, letting her go first. The house didn't have as many stories as the Burrow, so he assumed they wouldn't have to go up many flights. He looked up to ask her, but the words died in his throat. The word 'tits' was knocked out of his mind. It had been replaced firmly, if no more understandably, by 'arse.' Hermione's bum bounced along right in front of him, the curve made more pronounced by the tight denim. That settled it. As soon as they left, he was having his parents check him into St. Mungo's. On second thought, no. He could never explain the reason why to his mum. Did Harry ever look at Hermione this way? And if he didn't, why was he? He knew he hadn't last year. Of course, he hadn't really looked at girls much at all. Not that he was around that many to begin with. That was it! It was because he was always around Hermione! She was practically the only female non-family member his age that he had close contact with, so it was only understandable. His dad had had 'The Talk' with him and all that shit about how his body was changing; it was just a phase, and would go away soon on it's own. No need to ask Harry, and definitely no need to tell Hermione. In fact, he just wouldn't think of it at all. Hermione was his best friend, and he wasn't going to ruin that over something so stupid.

_Interesting. She had thought he hadn't even had a physical reaction to her until the next year. True, it wasn't really personal, and he hadn't even thought of anything close to a relationship, but he was beginning to notice, though he didn't exactly want to, and was even a bit scared about it._

Her room was at the end of the hall, and whatever he had been expecting, this wasn't it. Somehow, he could only really picture her in a library with a bed in it. Lots of dark leather, and the smell of old parchment filling the air. The reality was quite a bit different. The walls were a purplish blue that probably had some fancy name he didn't know, and the duvet was patterned with pink, purple, and blue flowers. The only thing 'Hermione' about the room was the rows of bookcases lining the walls, and the Gryffindor scarf draped over the mirror on her dresser.

"Wow. It's, um, rather...girly in here, isn't it?" he asked uncomfortably, not quite sure where to put his feet, jamming his hands into his pockets to reduce the danger of breaking something. He noticed she had one of those square black boxes like what was in the living room, and wondered if there was one in each room.

"Well, yes, my parents were under the impression they had a daughter. I know what you mean though; it's not really me, is it? But since I'm hardly ever here, I just let Mum decorate it however she likes."

"I guess that's one of the few perks of being sixth in line. Mum doesn't really care what I do to my room, as long as you can see the floor."

Hermione sat on her bed with a laugh. "Yes, so I've heard. Ginny tells me that the walls are a bright enough orange to make your eyes bleed out of your skull."

Ron shrugged, muttering, "No worse than the rest of the house, I suppose."

"Don't say that. I've heard wonderful things about the Burrow, and I'm really disappointed I won't get to see it."

"Not much to see. About five stories that look glued together in no particular order, that looks like it should be condemned, with a garden full of gnomes. Nothing like you have here," he said frankly, wondering why anyone would want to see the Burrow after living in a place like this.

She stared out the window, a strangely sad expression crossing her face. "That wouldn't be such a bad thing. My parents are busy most of the time, so the house always feels sort of...empty. Harry says the Burrow feels full even when people aren't there, and you can relax and it's as if you've belonged there your whole life. I was looking forward to seeing what that was like."

Harry had said that? Huh. Although he supposed that after living with those Muggle relatives of his, anywhere would look good. But Hermione came from a happy family, so the Burrow couldn't offer her anything she needed, could it?

_But it could, and it had. The Burrow had been a wonderful place, and many of her happiest moments as a teenager had been spent there. Even as the world darkened around them, the Burrow always retained a sort of light about it; a reflection of those who lived there. Picnics by the pond, supper around the large kitchen table, late nights in Ginny or Ron's rooms...there were so many memories, so many little things that helped their relationship along the way._

"I mean, unless you rather I didn't. I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to invite me, or-"

Apparently he had been silent too long, giving her too much time to overthink it.

"Next summer. I'll have you and Harry over next summer, alright? Then we'll see if your eyes really do bleed out of your skull."

She looked so happy when he said this, that he was surprisingly glad he had changed his mind. Maybe Hermione at the Burrow wouldn't be so strange at all. Actually, now that he thought about it, he could see her fitting in quite well...

"Since they'll be awhile, would you like to watch a film? You said before that you've always wanted to."

He felt his ears burn. Yes, he had said that, but he wished she hadn't remembered. "Yeah, that'd be wicked and all, but I don't have any Muggle money with me, so I guess that's out." No Muggle money? How about no money at all! And if she offered to pay, he knew he would sink through the floor. It wasn't the idea of her being the one to pay that bothered him so much as the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything in return, and it didn't feel right to always be taking without giving back.

"Oh, I didn't mean we would go to the cinema. That's for new films. After they've been out about a year, you can buy a copy to watch at your house whenever you want."

Bless the Muggle that thought of that.

"Sure, sounds good. Hey, do you have one of those ani-whatchamacallits?"

Hermione hopped off the bed and was digging in the small cupboard underneath the black box. "Animated? Yes, I have a few. Let me find something that doesn't have too many unfamiliar Muggle references so you can enjoy it more...Ah! The Rescuers. That's a good one."

He watched with interest as she put a black rectangle into a smaller black box, then jumped back as the larger black box lit up. His eyes widened as Hermione pulled out a large, blue blob-like thing from the other side of the bed.

"Here, sit on this. Or I suppose you could sit up here on the bed."

Flowers, or something that looked like it would swallow his body whole. Decisions, decisions...

Hesitantly, he lowered himself onto the strange object, muffling his squawk of terror as he continued to sink. It conformed to his body, and, after wiggling around a bit, he found it was surprisingly comfortable.

"Hey, this is nice!"

She grinned. "Good. I'll look for one in neon orange to send you for Christmas."

His retort was cut off by movement and sound coming from the black box. As the pictures flashed in front of him, he tried to remember how this worked. Harry said it was like Wizarding pictures, where they took pictures of people acting out a story, only you could hear them, too. But somehow, this was different.

"Hermione? What was the difference between this and a regular film again?" he finally asked.

She pushed a button on a small black wand-looking thing, and the image froze.

"Regular films are of people acting out a story, while animation tells the story with drawings that move really fast."

Okay, that didn't really help. How did drawings move without magic? His confusion must have shown, for she reached for something on the desk beside her bed.

"Here, let me show you."

Crouching down next to him, she had a pad of Muggle paper and a pen (which he thought was a hell of a lot more convenient than quills and ink), and she was drawing a little stick figure in the bottom corner of each page.

"Alright, you see how each drawing is slightly different? Watch what happens when I do this."

She then flipped the pages in a rapid motion, and the pictures she had drawn blurred together into a person doing star jumps.

"Wicked!" he exclaimed. He would have to show this to the twins!

"That's basically all it is, only a lot more detailed, of course."

The film started back up, and Ron felt himself getting sucked into the story. It was really interesting, even if he found himself more emotionally involved in the lives of two fake mice than was probably healthy. No one needed to know that he was rooting for the awkward little mouse to get the girl. It would be his little secret. Forever and ever, until the next coming of Merlin, amen.

_Not quite forever, my dear! Just wait until the next time you tease me for getting teary over the characters in a book! Hermione thought gleefully. Although it shouldn't have surprised her; Ron always did have a soft spot for the underdog, especially when it came to romance. Sadly, being sympathetic to the plights of others didn't cause him to take more of a initiative in his own love life, or they could have been spared a lot of needless angst._

_Though there had been nothing romantic about that day, She could tell it was special to Ron, and not just because of his introduction to pizza later that night. They had laughed and talked through several more films while their parents went out for dinner, and he felt like he was learning more about the Muggle side of her that he sometimes forgot she had. They talked about his upcoming trip, and how he was excited to get to see his older brother again, and they speculated on the likelihood of having a normal school year. Both agreed that it was unlikely, but that being friends with Harry was worth it. They made plans for next summer at the Burrow, where Harry would of course join them. Hermione enjoyed the sense of happiness she felt through Ron._

He liked her best when she was like this; laid back and relaxed, not constantly worried over something. So many people thought she was too uptight to have fun, and Ron liked being one of the few people who knew better. That was something he only really shared with Harry, and, to a lesser extent, Ginny, Fred, and George. But mainly, It was him and Harry that experienced all sides of Hermione, and the more he did, the less he liked the idea of sharing her with anyone outside their small circle. She was becoming more and more of an important part of his life, and he felt as if he had to hold on tight, because anything that had ever been important to him had a nasty habit of breaking or slipping away...

_Something she wished she had seen sooner, because it explained so much of his behavior anytime she interacted with other people that she normally didn't (namely Viktor). Ron, like many insecure people, clung to set, comfortable patterns, and hated anything that disrupted them._

_Flakes of snow whirled around her head, and, turning, she found that one of her walls had disappeared, to be replaced by...Hogsmeade?_

Ron watched as Hermione gushed over the owls in the Post Office, smiling to himself at the thought that she, unlike most girls he knew, was squealing over how orderly they were set up for deliveries rather than how cute they were. Hermione, he thought with fond amusement, was not a girl to be won over by flowers and chocolates, but by lists and timetables.

_It's true I'm impressed by planning and forethought, but flowers and sweets would have been appreciated too. I just didn't get my hopes up, since I didn't know any boys with the sensitivity to try that. You may consider yourself exhibit A, Ron!_

When he had proposed the truce, he had thought it would be hard to keep up, but that wasn't so. Every time he started to make a sharp comment, he remembered her pleading expression, and the way she had said that she wanted to have a nice day with him. The anger would die back down, and he found that he actually preferred it to the way they had been acting recently. Why couldn't she say things like that more often? She could be so harsh sometimes that he couldn't help fighting back, but if she just toned it down a bit, he was more than willing to get along.

_Hypocrite! It would have been just as easy for you to make the effort, you know. Although to be fair, you're much better at that sort of thing now. Not perfect, but better._

"Hermione, can we go to Honeyduke's now? If we don't hurry, all the best stuff is going to be gone!" he asked desperately. His sweet tooth was his major weakness, and he had scrimped for a chocolate binge for months. Besides, they still had to pick some out from Harry.

"Yes, yes, just a minute...besides, I thought we agreed to go there last? Carrying all those sweets around everywhere would be a pain. Don't you want to go for a butterbeer?"

He shuffled impatiently towards the door, glad when she finally joined him. "Yeah, alright. They say it's supposed to warm you up, and I could use that. My bloody bollocks are growing icicles!"

"Lovely, Ron. I think you've managed to kill my appetite for the feast tonight."

"That's all right then. I'll just have your share as well." he said cheerfully. "Hey, isn't that Fred and George over by Zonko's? What's everyone huddled around them for?"

"Knowing your brothers, I'm almost afraid to find out. Let's go and make sure they haven't turned one of our classmates into a penguin or something." she sighed in resignation, trooping over to the small gathering.

"Don't say that too loud, you'll only give them ideas." he replied, nervous about what they would find. As they got close enough to see through the gaps between people, his stomach sank like a stone in a pond. Holy fuck, did they have to bring that out here? It may have seemed funny in the boy's dorm, but when Hermione saw it, she would go spare!

His eyes darted around, quickly assessing the best places to either duck and cover, or slither of to escape as Hermione shot out a tiny blue mittened hand and grabbed the sheaf of parchment George was flipping to the delight of his audience. He took a half a step back as her face went blank when she saw the stick figures locked in an...explicit embrace. Aaaaany minute now...

She cocked her head to the right, then the left, then thrust the pages back at George with a cool look. "Your male figure is obviously overcompensating, and you have a woeful lack of understanding of the basics of the female form. Obviously, your art doesn't spring from practical knowledge." she turned to sail away, Angelina, Katie, and Lee laughing so hard they had to clutch at each other to stay upright.

Fred was the first to find his voice. "Oi! Watch what you say about 'overcompensating'! I'll have you know, Weasley's are abundantly blessed in that area! If you don't believe me, just ask Ron to sh-"

Hermione spun on her heel, speaking softly with one eyebrow arched, in what Ron knew to be one of her most deadly expressions. _Now_ they would get the reaction he had been expecting. It was nice knowing you, Fred. Sometimes.

"Did you know, there are five hundred and seventy-three curses and hexes directed at the male genitalia alone?" she paused until she saw that she had Fred and George's complete and undivided attention. "Now, while I don't pretend to have all of them memorized _yet_, I am quite capable of performing the worst ones, and have several variations of my own that I wouldn't mind trying out if you choose to complete that sentence the way I thought you were. Well?"

"Did you notice the curious emphasis on the word '_yet'_, George?"

"I did indeed, Fred. Which begs the question; what were you saying to the young witch? The young, _dangerous_ witch?"

"Why, I was only going to suggest that she makes sure Ron is gentleman enough to show her around Hogsmeade properly; the Shrieking Shack, the Three Broomsticks...nothing objectionable about that, right?"

They both directed winning smiles in her direction. "Smooth. Doesn't fool me at all, mind you, but smooth enough to ensure that I won't be robbing your mother of grandchildren just yet." she deadpanned, but her eyes sparkled with humor.

At the mention of children, the twins looked quite horrified, and on that note he and Hermione walked away. He couldn't keep the grin from spreading on his face; when not directed at him, her sass was amazingly cool.

_Typically, Hermione would have acted about as well as he had originally predicted, but for a few reasons; the first being that they weren't actually on school grounds, and none of the people involved were even under fifth year. Hermione might be conservative, but she wasn't naive enough not to realize things like this floated around all the time. Second, the stick figures were fairly tame; you had to use your imagination to translate the blobby lumps into anything remotely sexual. But she knew some kind of reaction was expected of her, and it always secretly amused her to one-up the twins, and they appreciated her snark. It was one of the reasons they put up with her occasional preachyness._

"Come on Ron, I owe you a butterbeer. We can go to Honeyduke's next, unless you can think of anywhere else you want to go?"

He thought a moment. They had seen the Shack (only mildly impressive), Zonko's (tempting, but sweets were the main goal for this trip), a bookshop (dead boring), school supply shop (ditto), and the Post Office..."No, I think we've seen pretty much everything. And it looks like now's a good time to get a drink, since the crowd's thinned out."

They stepped into the small pub, which was loud and dimly lit, but clean and warm. They wove their way to a small table in the corner, and Hermione waved to catch Madam Rosmerta's attention. Ron found his eyes riveted on the older woman. There, that was more like it! That was the type he should be attracted to; nice, soft curves, curly blond hair. That was every bloke's dream, right? Right. She was a fine looking bird, even if she wouldn't give him a second look, at least not for another four years, when he became of age. He would just have to keep an eye out for a girl his age with similar...attributes. That would put to rest these weird feelings he was experiencing for Hermione. His internal appreciation for Madam Rosmerta's thighs, and points north, were brought to an abrupt halt by a sharp pain in his shin. He yelped, looking up to find Hermione glaring daggers at him as if she had just discovered him in the act of stringing up her bloody cat. See? Completely mental. He added 'docile' to the list of requirements his ideal girl needed to have. What kind of fool would ever be interested in a violent little miss like her?

_Obviously, someone with latent masochistic tendencies, Hermione thought dryly. She had been unexpectedly furious at seeing the way Ron eyed up the older woman like a dog with a fine cut of steak. At the time, she had attributed the feeling to being outraged by his objectification of women; She hadn't figured out till later that it was the first stirring of jealousy. It was an ugly trait, one she shared with Ron. Though she had liked to pretend that she took the high road in dealing with hers, she had to admit that that was not always the case. How many times had they needlessly hurt one another out of their own insecurity and need to be acknowledged by the other? And it had started, for all practical purposes, right here, in a tiny pub while a thirteen year old boy tried desperately to smother his growing affection (and, to be blunt, hormone driven lust) towards his friend by distracting himself with another woman._

_The scents of pub food and butterbeer faded away, replaced by a harsh, almost chemical odor; Ron was on his knees next to her, scrubbing away at something disgusting caked at the bottom of a bedpan._

With every vicious swipe of the cloth, Ron was imagining he was wiping the blobs and bits directly into Snape's fucking face. Or even better; giving him a good shampooing, forcefully cleaning that oilslick he called hair. He knew his face was burning with fury, but he didn't care. It's not like anyone was even here to see him, anyway. It was late at night, and with the luck he was having, he would probably get points taken on his way to bed. Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut? Actually, why hadn't Hermione kept_ her_ mouth shut? Snape had warned her more than once, but she just couldn't seem to help herself. If there was a question asked and she knew the answer, she would give it to you or bust a gut trying.

It's not like he and Hermione were on warm fluffy terms. Not that they ever were, really, but right now was the worst they had ever been, and he could almost feel it getting worse. And on top of that, he was bloody confused. One minute he wanted to strangle her, and the next, he was ogling her hemline when she bent over. It wasn't natural!

No one would have blamed him if he hadn't said anything in the lesson, even if they did hate Snape. Not even Hermione, and she was taking every chance she got to lecture him for the smallest thing. And he probably wouldn't have, if he hadn't looked at her. If he had just kept staring straight ahead, he could be in his warm bed right now, dreaming of things like Quidditch and the way Madam Rosmerta filled out her blouse. But he had looked, and the tears that were filling her eyes had him reliving that moment in first year when he called her a nightmare. When he saw that, he was angrier at Snape than he had ever been before, and that was saying a lot. Last time he had been that angry, he had ended up belching slugs. He was noticing a disturbing trend of standing up for Hermione and coming out the worse for it. Still, what right had the greasy git to pick on her like that? She had only answered the bloody question. That's what you were supposed to do in lessons, wasn't it? Harry had pointed out that it was a bit odd that he had reacted so strongly to Hermione being treated badly, when he hadn't exactly been sweetness and charm to her himself. But that was different. Snape didn't know Hermione. He didn't spend nearly every moment of every day of the school year with her. He didn't know the things that would make her smile when she was in a bad mood, or that she sometimes got so wrapped up revising that she forgot to eat. And he definitely didn't know that there was something funny going on with her that she wouldn't talk about (actually, even Harry didn't seem to notice, but Ron was determined to get to the bottom of it). Snape just plain didn't...care like Ron did.

Some would say that that only made the way he was treating her worse, and maybe they were right. But in Ron's mind, that was what he and Hermione did; they bit, kicked, and scratched, as it were, until it all blew over and they got sorted out. Then there was a nice lull, and they started the process all over again. Oddly enough, even with living with Fred, George, and Ginny, Hermione was the only one who could get under his skin as much as she did, and was the only one who could give as good as she got in a fight. Fred and George rarely got that mad, and Ginny didn't have the patience for long bouts of verbal warfare; she would snipe along at you for a while, then end it all with a Bat-Bogey Hex. Hermione could sink in for the long haul, and get just as creatively vindictive as he could. It was strange, but he had a sort of love-hate thing with their fighting. He loved the challenge, the weird charge that rolled off of them in waves, but he hated the lousy way it felt when he knew he actually hurt her, and the way it stung when something she said got too close to home.

Besides, it didn't matter what was going on between them. You stood up for your friends, even when you wanted to wring their necks with their own bushy hair. He just wished she gave a damn about it. She hadn't said anything to him about it, and had been unusually quiet. In fact, he was beginning to think she thought he deserved this detention for talking back to a professor. That sounded like something she'd say. He threw down the rag, staring at the now clean bedpan. His anger had faded into a kind of morose bitterness. Would anything he ever did matter to her, or would he always just be a giant fuck up? It's not like he was trying to impress her. He just wanted her to know that while he might be a bastard to her sometimes, he didn't want anyone else hurting her like that. But he knew, that if it came down to it, he would do it again. At least he could be good for something, even if she never thought so...

_Hermione wiped away the tears that were spilling over her eyelids. She had noticed, and had thought he was wonderful for standing up for her like that. But with the way things had been going between them, she hadn't known how to tell him. She was afraid he would blame her for his detention, and she already felt guilty enough about that as it was. She still should have tried. Because this was where Ron started to really believe he couldn't do anything right in her eyes; that no matter how hard he tried, it would never be enough. It said so much about him, that though he believed that to be true, he still kept trying. Sometimes it got too much for him and he would give up for awhile, but he always came back, even when he thought it was a losing battle. His bravery and loyalty wasn't exclusively reserved for Harry; he had done so much for her, and had got very little in the way of acknowledgement from her in return. While not quite so drastic in their life anymore, they still followed this pattern. He would make an effort, and she would, with no intention of being hurtful or ungrateful, let it pass without remark. That was something she needed to correct; she was quick enough to let him know when he did something wrong, but she needed to be just as verbal when he was doing the right thing. Just because he was more confident now didn't make it any less important for him to know she appreciated him._

_Tucking that resolution away for later, she followed him out of the room, and was almost knocked off her feet by the hurt and anger that shot directly into her chest like a fiery cannonball._

Ron's vision had passed from red to white hot, and his breathing was coming in short bursts as he paced around the dorm, Harry watching from the safety of his bed. He was furious. Absofuckinglutely furious. He had told her, _and told her_, to keep that monster of hers under control. But did she listen? Of course not! The Great Hermione Granger knew better, as always. So here he was with a dead rat with no body for a proper burial, just a few bloodstains on his bed sheet. And all she could offer was the fact that it was in a cat's nature to eat rats. As if he didn't know that! He lived in the country for fuck's sake; he wasn't so thick that he didn't know that a cat's normal food source didn't come out of a can. He also knew that for such an otherwise responsible person, she was inexcusably sloppy when it came to pet ownership.

But as badly as he felt about the death of his rat (and he did feel bad; as much as he grumbled and complained, he had been attached to the little guy.), that wasn't what was making him so upset. No, it was the fact that she couldn't even squeeze out an apology. He didn't have many personal belongings. Why was it no one could seem to show the few he had any damn respect? If it had been Hedwig, Hermione would have sobbed all over Harry, but he hadn't got one ounce of sympathy. Weren't they friends? Hadn't he puked up slugs for her? Scrubbed bed pans without magic? Did he really mean so little to her?

_Of course he had. She just had been confused by his whole attitude about Scabbers, and why it bothered him so much. It hadn't been until later that she had figured it out, and by then, she thought it was too late to fix. With everything that was going on in her life, she had felt scared, alone, and hurt, and Ron had given her no sign that he would ever forgive her._

"Ron? You alright, there?" Harry asked tentatively.

He swung around to face him, a scowl contorting his face. "I hate her, Harry! That stuck up, smart arsed, swotty little bi-"

"Stop it. You know you don't mean that." Harry interrupted, a slight warning tone in his voice. Just because he usually stayed out of their fights didn't mean he would let one of them go that far.

Ron gave a wordless growl. Harry was right, and he was glad he hadn't finished what he had been about to say, but he was still pissed off, and Harry didn't have much room to talk.

"Oh, come on! As if you didn't want to murder her when she got your broom taken away!" he said accusingly.

Harry dropped his gaze, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "Yeah, I did, but you know, she kind of had a point..."

A small, logical voice in the back of Ron's mind agreed, but with thirteen plus years of experience behind him he found it easy to ignore. Besides, at this moment, he wouldn't agree with Hermione if she told him the sky was blue.

"So what? That suddenly makes it okay for her mange-ridden animal to eat my rat?"

"'Course it doesn't, but come on! I think she was starting to cry when we left..."

Ron snapped open his bed curtains, crawled onto the mattress, and turned to glare at his friend. "Harry. I don't. Fucking. _Care._ Alright?"

Harry sighed. "You don't-"

"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I MEAN!"

The muscle in Harry's jaw clenched, but he didn't say another word, instead removing his glasses and rolling over to face the other way.

Ron jerked his curtains shut. Harry was right, he did care. And that, more than anything, was what made him the angriest. Not that she got the Firebolt taken away, not that she didn't give a damn about Scabbers being killed. Not even that she was hiding something, and treating him as if he was too stupid to figure out, or too untrustworthy to tell. No, what had him so angry was that after all of that, he still cared about her, and wanted things to go back to the way they were between them. He wanted the good natured bickering of an evening by the fire, the easy laughter of the days they spent together at her house or Hogsmeade; the content feeling he got just being around one of his best friends. But she had hurt him, and she wasn't doing a damn thing to make it better, and the fact that hearing she might have been crying made him want to go and check on her made him want to punch something. This mess between them was all her fault, and he wasn't going to let her get away with it. Not this time. He wouldn't back down. He didn't have much, but he had his pride, and if she couldn't respect that enough to be the one to say she was sorry...and really, that was all he wanted. If she would just say those two words, and mean them, he would let it go. He would gripe and grumble, but he would forgive her.

He flopped back on his pillow, exhausted. The backs of his eyes stung, and a thickness choked up his throat.

'Damn it Hermione, hurry up and apologize already..._please_.'


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: These two chapters are slightly different. While writing, I realized things were getting too long, so I split these sections off into their own parts. This is the period they were separated in third year, and I'm using it to split the year up, so you can think of these as interlude chapters, with the set up going back to normal next time. I know some of you see a disturbing trend; first year was covered with one chapter, second year in two, and now third year will have three installments. Believe me, I'm trying very, very hard not to let that become a trend. That being said, I promise nothing. Inspiration is a flighty thing, and I must go where it leads.**

**Also, please forgive any mistakes with British terms. My lovely beta is without the internet, so I am working without a net. Hopefully I can go back and correct things later.**

**When I saw that this story had over 200 reviews and over 100 follows, I had to take a few moments to calmly wheeze into a paper bag. I never thought this story would go over so well, and you are wonderful people for sending me all your positive feedback. Each review is treasured, so thanks again for taking the time to do so!**

Hermione wiped her eyes as she shut the door to Hagrid's hut behind her. She had just spent the last hour inside visiting, and, to her embarrassment, crying. The large man had a comforting nature, something she had been sorely needing, and she had missed talking to him. Usually she came with Harry and Ron, but that had stopped when they had shut her out. This afternoon she had snuck out when she thought she would be able to avoid them; she hated running into Ron, for he always looked at her as if she was one of the more disgusting Potions ingredients. But hearing about his brush with Sirius Black had frightened her, and she needed someone to talk to. She could have spoken with any of Ron's siblings, since they had surprisingly treated her the same as they always had, but looking at them hurt too much. It reminded her how wrong things were between her and Ron, and she was feeling bad enough about it as it was.

Hagrid had been kind, telling her that the boys were sure to come around, that she was more important to them than a broom or a rat. She wished she could believe that, but the longer this dragged on, the less likely it seemed. Now, she was in the right about the broom, and she knew it. Harry would probably forgive her for that, if it was only him. But Scabbers...she had messed up there. Badly. Once she had read her mother's letter, and the reply she had forwarded from Jackie, she had felt like a fool. A heartless fool.

'Hermione, while your father and I have always admired your level-headedness and compassion for others, it has concerned us how oblivious you can be to the feelings of the people closest to you. The incident with the broom was understandable, since it was a matter of safety. You did the right thing about informing the professor when you couldn't make your friends see sense. But the rat is an entirely different matter altogether. In the first place, the plain and simple fact is that your pet ate his; whether his rat was already dying, or that you believe he has never cared about the animal before this makes no difference. Even though it was an accident, you still owe him an apology. Second, you say you are confused as to why it matters so much to him, when he has always given the impression that he doesn't even like the rat. Dear, I don't believe you thought that through very well. From everything you have told me about Ron, it's very obvious why he has acted this way. Coming from a poor family, and having so little to call his own, with even that being second hand, is it any wonder that he's distanced himself from becoming close to them? Sometimes, when a person cares for something, they often act as if they don't, to lessen the hurt when they finally lose it. This doesn't mean they don't care, and usually, they find that it doesn't lessen the hurt at all. I think you'll find that Ron cares for things more than he lets on, but is afraid of admitting to it for that very reason. You say he was always complaining how worthless Scabbers was, but if he really thought that, would he have spent the little money he had on medicine for him? Would he constantly carry him around, trying to make him comfortable?'

_Hermione's mother was an insightful woman. He wasn't sure if it was because he was the youngest son out of the six, or because he was caught in the middle between them and Ginny, or even if it was just in his nature, but he had developed the habit of distancing himself from the things he loved early on. It had taken the sting out of watching his older brothers receive the shiny new things, and of Ginny coming along to take what had been his. He tried so hard to make himself believe that nothing mattered to him, as if that could take away the hurt when it went to someone else. Not that it ever did, but it made him feel more in control of things, and he didn't realize what a bad habit it had become until it was too late. Because that was what he was doing to Hermione here; she was hurting him by not caring about his feelings, so instead of being mature, he had pushed her away, not wanting to give her any more opportunities to hurt him. Instead of making her feel bad, though, he had made her feel like he thought she was less important than a rat. No wonder she hadn't tried to apologize; he had spent years belittling Scabbers, so what was she supposed to think he thought of her? He hadn't exactly given the impression that forgiveness was likely, and he could say some pretty nasty things when he was crossways with someone. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to open herself up to that. When he was hurt he could be an absolute shit, and he hated that about himself. He had tried to work on that, and thought he had made progress, but he knew it would probably always be one of his weaknesses._

'You need to start taking his actions into consideration. People with kind hearts are often the most easily hurt, and they are prone to using harsh words as a defense. Give him a chance to cool down, and then let him know that you are sorry. Do it soon, Hermione. He's been too good of a friend to you to lose him over something as easily fixed as this. It's deeply important to him now, but in ten years it won't matter. Let him be mad. Don't try to rationalize things, because he will only see it as you trivializing his emotions. I know you're worried he won't forgive you, but don't let that stop you. I've met the boy, and I refuse to believe that he considers his rat to be more important than his friendship with you.'

Hermione released a sound that couldn't decide whether it was a laugh or a sob. That was easy for her mum to say, but she hadn't seen the way he had been treating her. It was worse than first year, and she shuddered to think of the things he would come up with to call her now. Her mother's advice had been sound, but she couldn't seem to find the right time to put it into action. At least Mum had been understanding. Jackie ( to whom she had modified the story to comply with the Secrecy Act) had been more blunt.

'Hermione, I love you like you were my own little sister, but you have an unfortunate trait of always believing yourself to be in the right, and once you've made up your mind, you refuse to see things from the other person's point of view. Although the fact that you're writing for help is a sign of improvement, I suppose. Let me tell you how it is; both of you are wrong, and you're acting like little children. Your cat ate his pet, and your reaction was callous. The way he's frozen you out is equally cruel, even if he probably feels like he was justified. I believe I warned you about the nature of teenage boys, but I forgot to mention that you shouldn't provoke them needlessly. In short, you both need to grow up and apologize to one another. He is a fourteen year old boy. You are a fourteen year old girl. He is not going to make the first move, so if you want to make things right, you need to put on your big girl knickers and do what needs to be done. He'll drag his feet, but he'll come around in the end. So hurry up, so the two of you can have a nice relaxing break before your next scrap.'

She sighed. Their advice was all very well and good, but neither of them had told her how to actually go about said apology. Jackie had been right when she accused her of not being able to admit when she was wrong. It wasn't very often that she was, but when it happened, she hated it. It made her feel as if she was failing at some kind of test. Should she do it in a specific way? Should she offer to replace Scabbers, or would that only make the situation worse? Knowing Ron, it probably would.

Caught up in her troubles, she had rounded the bend before she fully registered the voices of the people in front of her. She nearly bumped into Percy, who was berating an obviously unrepentant Fred and George about something or other. Once she saw who it was, she began to slither off in another direction, but it was too late. The twins had spotted a distraction, and had each latched onto one arm.

"Hermione! How positively smashing to run into you! Isn't it, George?" Fred said brightly from her left side.

"Indeed it is, Fred! Why, just the other day, I was asking myself why we haven't seen more of the elusive Miss Granger, and even began to wonder if she wasn't avoiding us. But you wouldn't do that, would you Hermione?" George asked her keenly.

Her eyes darted from left to right, the truth weighing uncomfortably on her. "Of course not! I've just been...busy, that's all," she muttered unconvincingly.

Fred tutted. "Your lying skills are woefully inadequate. You'll need to practice a lot harder if you want to fool masters of deception such as ourselves."

"So, were you afraid that we would take our brother's side in the Great Weasley-Granger Feud, or," George spoke seriously, without any trace of teasing, "was it perhaps because the sight of freckled gingers reminded you too much of a certain prat?"

Both of them looked at her knowingly, and she hated that she had been that transparent. Why did they have to pick now to be all intuitive? Why weren't they off pouring itching powder into the clothing of their unsuspecting victims? No, now they had to be all kind and understanding, right when she was an emotional mess. She refused to let them see her cry. She had done enough of that already, and she hated the thought of anyone else seeing her so vulnerable.

Salvation came in the unlikely form of Percy, who had slipped up behind his younger brothers, to give them each a smack on the back of the head.

"Knock it off, you two! Can't you see you're upsetting her?"

The twins rubbed their heads and glared at him before looking at her contritely. "Sorry, Hermione. We didn't mean to make you feel bad, you know? We just didn't want you to think that you couldn't talk to us just because of your fight with Ron." George explained.

"Is that still going on? Maybe I should write Mother about it. I'm sure she could get him to straighten up," Percy said with a frown.

"NO!" Hermione, Fred, and George responded loudly.

Hermione grabbed ahold of his sleeve, her voice high and panicky. "Please, please don't do that! You'll only make it worse!" She knew if he thought she had gone tattling to his mum, she would lose any hope of forgiveness that she might still have.

"She's right, Perce. If Mum sends a Howler, he'll just blame Hermione. You know how he gets when he's like this," warned Fred.

Percy wore a hurt expression. "I was only trying to help."

"I know, and I appreciate the thought, but Fred's right. It would just be another strike against me, and I'm not sure how many more of them I can afford."

"I suppose, but I can't think of another way to bring him around," Percy said, folding his arms, "Can the two of you remember any time when Ron has apologized for anything without Mother making him?"

The twins shrugged sheepishly. "The thing about Ron is that he's never had to grow up enough to say he's sorry. When he gets mad at one of us, Mum's the one to sort him out, and that doesn't count. Besides, he has a double dose of the Weasley-Prewett temper, and his is the worst of all of us."

"Fred's right. Bill's slow to get mad, and he doesn't stay that way long. Charlie's all laughs until suddenly he's not, and then he's fine again once he explodes. Percy goes off and broods about things by himself. Fred and I just sort of make your life miserable until we feel like we're even, and Ginny will verbally rip you up one side and down the other and then hex you for good measure. Ron...well, he settles in for the long haul. He says things without thinking, and goes right for your weak spots. Once he's been hurt, he lashes out to take you down with him."

_His brothers knew him well. He had an unhealthy way of being able to carry a grudge, nursing his anger so that it always stayed fresh. It was a good thing Hermione had stopped Percy, because he would have blamed her, taking it as another sign of betrayal. That was another thing he needed to watch for when they were fighting. He needed to learn to let things go, and not to go looking for other things to be mad about instead of dealing with the problem at hand._

"On the bright side," Fred continued, "He never gets this mad with people he doesn't care about, which means he really likes you."

Hermione gave a derisive snort. "Well if that's the case, he should be inviting Malfoy to Madam Puddifoot's any day now."

"No, Fred's right," Percy said thoughtfully, "Ron only ever gets mad at Malfoy when he's around provoking him, but once he's away, he forgets all about it and goes back to normal. This thing with you really has him upset. In fact, yesterday he turned down a second helping of bacon, and for Ron, that's the height of emotional devastation right there."

Her shoulders slumped. "Is the fact that I've upset him that much supposed to be making me feel better? Because you know, strangely enough, it isn't."

"It should. Look, Hermione. I know you can't really see it, but he's hating this as much as you are. But you're the mature one of the two, so you're going to have to lead the way on this, even if it's not your fault."

She scuffed her foot on the ground, drawing a line in the dirt with her toe. "That's just it. It really is my fault this time, and I can't honestly blame him for being so mad at me," she said, not meeting Fred's eyes.

"Yeah, you didn't do so well with the whole Scabbers thing, but Ron was out of line about the Firebolt, and he shouldn't have shut you out like this for so long, or made Harry feel like he had to go along with it."

Hermione shrugged. Ron had been Harry's friend first, and in some ways they were closer together. She was always going to lose out if it ever came down to a choice between them, just as she would if Ron had to choose between her and Harry. It hurt, but she accepted it.

_Ron swore under his breath. He had never meant for Harry to have to choose, or for Hermione to think that was what was going on. For him, he had seen them both as injured parties, so it only made sense for them to both ignore her. In all the years of worrying over whether or not she would choose Harry over him, he had never once thought that she might have similar concerns._

"I understand they were excited about the broom, but it was most imprudent of them not to consider the ramifications." Percy grumbled.

George rolled his eyes. "You'd think after living with us, Ron would know better than to even open a strange package, and ours have always been relatively harmless. When an insane murderer has you in his sights, you just don't take these things at face value. Still, I think that's pretty much blown over, and if you say something about the mess with Scabbers, Ron will get over it."

_George had a good point. And, looking back now, he saw how dangerously stupid he and Harry had been. It had been drummed into him in Auror training that you never opened a suspicious package on principle, and that went double when you had solid reason to suspect that your life was being threatened. Sirius had ended up being safe, but the thought of how things could have turned out made him shudder. He recalled the horror stories told in training of people who had let their guard down._

For the first time in weeks, Hermione felt hopeful. After all, these were his brothers, so they should know, right? This shouldn't be hard, really. She was a Gryffindor, after all. There was an hour before dinner; if she went looking for him now, the three of them would be able to sit down for a meal together for the first time in ages.

"You're right, I've put it off long enough. I'm going to go do it right now. Maybe Harry's ready for this to be over too, and he'll help me to convince Ron," she said, squaring her shoulders.

"'Atta girl! You'll see, you'll be back to bullinging them into revising before the night's over, and in a week, you won't even remember any of this ever happened," Fred encouraged, he and George patting her on the shoulder.

"I truly hope so. Ron seems to have been lacking motivation lately, and I hear his marks may have slipped a bit." Percy added.

_Thanks for your concern over the possible permanent break of my friendship, Perce. You're all heart._

Hermione turned in the direction of the castle, but had taken no more than three steps before everything became dim, and the ground shifted under her feet. Swaying dangerously, she heard three voices cry out, and suddenly several pairs of hands were leading her to sit on a medium-sized rock on the side of the path. Gently, someone pressed her head down until it was between her knees, and she distantly heard Percy tell her to take deep, even breaths. She did, and slowly, things swam back into focus, and she looked up into the worried faces of the older boys.

_Ron slumped to his knees along with her. He was familiar with the signs. It was a problem that still persisted even now, and he supposed it always would. Hermione had never been one to worry overmuch about things like weight; she tried to eat sensibly for the most part, and never bothered with silly things like fad diets. But when she was extremely focused (or worried to a great extent), she just plain forgot to eat, something that had been unfathomable to him the first time he noticed it. She would become so engrossed in whatever was holding her attention, that the time for meals would come and go, and by the time she realized it, she would decide it was too late and that she would wait for the next meal. Which wasn't too bad if it only happened once in awhile, but sometimes she got stuck on a loop, and it was usually up to him to pull her out. Obviously, he had fallen down on the job during this period._

"Sorry about that. I've been so caught up with other things, I completely forgot to get anything to eat today," she smiled weakly, trying to deflect their searching eyes.

She knew full well what they would see; she was paler than normal, making the purple bags under her eyes look deeper, and she was trembling from low blood sugar. It's not as if she meant to get into this bad of shape. But the Time-Turner was taking a much larger toll on her than she had thought it would, and the matter with Harry and Ron was compounding things even more. Adding the research she was doing for Buckbeak, and she was stretched thinner than was probably good for her. Still, she was confident that if she got at least one thing settled then the rest were sure to follow, so after waving away their offer to help her back to the tower, and making many promises that she would take better care of herself, she was finally on her way to find Ron.

Since it was late afternoon on a Saturday, she decided to try the Common Room first, and was pleased to be lucky on her first shot. Slipping in quietly, she took a minute before anyone noticed her to brush aside her nervousness and swallow her pride. Ron was sitting at one of the tables with Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville. He was laughing at something one of them had said, and he looked happier than she had seen him of late. In an instant, his gaze found hers across the room, and the smile on his face died, to be replaced by a hard, implacable look of loathing.

_Ron was shocked by the expression on his own face. Had he really looked like that? His face was twisted into something ugly, and he wasn't surprised at all when Hermione could find no trace of the boy that had been her friend on it. There was nothing to tell her that this had been the same Ron who had belched slugs for her, or defended her against Snape. Looking at him, you would never know that he had missed her over the summer, or had enjoyed their day in Hogsmeade so much. He thought it couldn't get any worse, but then he watched as he did something that cut her the most, and him along with her; he turned away, as if he hadn't even seen her standing there, as if she meant less to him than the very space in which she stood._

Her momentum failing her, she opened her mouth, searching desperately for the right words, but nothing came. As he turned away from her, her eyes caught the helpless shrug that Harry sent her way, as if trying to tell her that he couldn't understand, either. Without a word, she crossed the room to the stairs, her head ducked so that her hair blocked her face. His brothers had been wrong. It might be different with other people, but there was no forgiveness for her there. He was done with her, and he had made that perfectly clear. Merlin, if she ever wanted to cut the heart right out of someone, she knew now exactly how to do it; with utter contempt, staring right through them like they weren't even there.

_That thought caused him to smile mirthlessly. His own actions would come back to haunt him in sixth year. And, as with everything else, not only had Hermione mastered the lesson she had learned here, but she had improved on it as well._

She closed the door behind her, thankful the other girls were out. There was nothing left for her to do now, anything she tried was sure to get the same response. She had lost one of the two best friends she had ever had, and now she was faced with the reality that she was going to have to go back to the way things were before. When she was alone. She rubbed her temples, which had begun to throb. She didn't want to think right now. It was forty-five minutes before supper. Reaching for a book, she decided to read for just a few minutes. Just a few minutes, and then she would go down like she had promised Fred, George, and Percy, but right now, she would let herself forget. Just a few minutes more...


	13. Chapter 13

Ron sat at a table with the other boys in the Common Room, where they had gathered to work on their essays. Predictably, they were doing more goofing off than actual writing, and even though they had plenty of time if they buckled down to it, he knew it would end in a mad rush later tonight. He was trying to enjoy himself, but only partially succeeding. While he liked the other boys well enough, he felt like there was something missing. He laughed and joked along with them, but he kept waiting for an admonishing voice telling him to get to work, only it never came. It wasn't as if he and Harry had never spent time without her before. They had different interests, and would drift off to do their own thing. But it was never for very long, and each one knew it wouldn't be for more than a day and they would be back together again. This was different. There was something uncomfortably permanent about it, as though they had splintered for good.

He hated it, and knew Harry did as well, with the way he would look at Hermione and then back at Ron, with the same expression Ginny would look at Mum with when she wanted to get an ice cream but knew she would be told no. After his last explosion, Harry hadn't brought it up again, and Ron wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, it made it easier to ignore his guilt, but on the other, it at least would have given him an excuse to make up with her without losing face if he could blame Harry. This was dragging on a lot longer than he thought it would, and he was secretly hoping Harry would push him again.

_Fat chance of that. When it came to their rows, Harry remained so neutral that he nearly broke out in a Swiss flag patterned rash. She had forgotten just how stubborn Ron could be. In one of their most recent arguments, she had accused him of being stubborn, but the way he was in the future didn't have a patch on him now. The changes had been so gradual that she supposed she hadn't noticed it, but he had become more willing to be the one to make the first move to end a fight, and she was thankful that they had moved past the point where the pain was drawn out like this. He could be spiteful and petty when they were younger, but that had become far less frequent. Things were still said in the heat of anger, but she was no saint in that regard herself._

It was tempting to suggest that they go to the library to finish up, but he was afraid that the others would see past that. The library was the best place to catch a glimpse of Hermione, and she had been spending more and more time there of late. Partially, he was sure, to avoid him and Harry, but he didn't think that that was the whole reason. Though they were, for all intents and purposes, at war, he still noticed things about her, and what he was noticing had him confused.

Her schedule was nearly the same as his, so he had easily memorized it, and things just didn't add up. Fact one: she had never missed a lesson they shared. Fact two: she had (from what he could gather) never missed a lesson that they had separately. Fact three, and this was where it all went hinky: some of these lessons were held _at the same time._ One minute she would be nowhere in sight, and the next she would be raising her hand from her usual seat. How was she doing it? Even with magic, it should be impossible. He had given it a lot of thought, but couldn't come up with anything. Well, one thing. He wasn't stupid, and he listened to his dad a lot, so he knew of one thing that could account for it, but he discarded the idea almost instantly. Not only was it dangerous, but it would be breaking actual laws, not just school rules. There was no way Hermione would be doing anything like that.

Of course, the thing that bothered him the most was that she wouldn't tell him. Not that he guessed that it mattered much now, but he had been getting worried. She had been throwing herself into her work more than ever, and it had gotten harder and harder to snap her out of it. Guiltily, he wondered if she had been remembering to eat and take enough breaks, but he quickly shook it off. Hermione was a big girl, and she didn't need anyone looking after her, much less him. In fact, she would probably prefer it if he kept his overly long nose out of it. Yeah, he was sure she was happier without him, getting more work done, wondering why she hadn't dropped him sooner...otherwise, why had she not tried to get him to talk to her again, especially after he almost got stabbed in his sleep?

_He was only partially right about not needing anyone to look after her. While she was no damsel in distress, she did have the habit of getting so caught up in things that she forgot to take care of herself sometimes, and it wasn't until someone else pointed it out that she would remember. Her father was the same way, and she and her mother had to stay on top of him. Ron had always been the one to jump in and stop her when she was pushing herself too hard, and, even though he could sometimes be overly blunt about it, he never made it seem like he thought she was weak because of it. They had just fallen into a natural balance; she spurred him on when he slacked off, and he slowed her down before she could run herself into the ground. There was an equal measure of give and take, which any good relationship had to have._

He realized Dean had made a joke, and laughed loudly to cover up the fact that he hadn't been paying attention. Across the room, the portrait swung open, and a familiar head of thick hair popped into the room. She stood standing for a moment, looking rather lost, and suddenly he was filled with the urge to call out for her to join them. Instantly, he fought the feeling down. He hadn't held out this long for nothing. Gathering every bit of his anger that he could summon, he glared defiantly at her; if she wanted things to go back to normal, then she would have to make the first move. He tried not to show his shock when her mouth, which had opened, trembled and closed, and her shoulders seemed to sag in defeat. His resolve weakened, and he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his anger up for long, so he turned away, hoping that she would just go ahead and get it over with already.

Instead, she nearly ran for the stairs, and if he didn't know better, he would say she was crying. But that was impossible, right? He hadn't even done anything.

'We obviously had very different ideas about what 'hadn't done anything' consisted of, Hermione thought. It was amazing how fierce and unapproachable he could look without even trying.'

Her reaction wasn't lost on Harry, either, because he was giving him that look again.

"Ron, don't you think it's time you-"

"No."

"But-"

"No!"

"C'mon, Ron. don't you think you've made the poor lass suffer enough?" Seamus broke in.

Ron rounded on him. "You know what time I think it is? Time for everyone to get their damn noses out of my business!"

Seamus threw his hands up in surrender, and an uncomfortable hush fell over the group. After a few minutes, Neville fidgeted around in his chair, saying with false brightness, "Well, This is an awkward silence. Would anyone care to fill it?"

That broke the tension, and Ron sat back, letting the others talk around him. Now that he had a chance to think, it had looked as if she had been about to say something, and he wondered, if he had waited, if she would have made a move. But surely she hadn't been scared off just because he had frowned at her. It would take a tougher bloke than him to cow Hermione Granger.

Not long afterwards, people began filing out of the dorms headed for the Great Hall, and Ron was eager to join them. Conflict always gave him an appetite. As did being depressed. Or happy. Or sad. Alright, pretty much everything made him hungry, but he was a growing boy, what did people expect? (Which only made things harder right now, when he would suddenly lose interest in his food in the middle of a meal. he had to pack it in quick before he wasted away.)

_He had used that excuse often, and Hermione had once calculated his projected growth based on his intake. If he had in fact grown as much as his eating habits indicated, he should have ended up at least the height of Grawp. Fortunately he hadn't, although he still used the same excuse, only nowadays with a lewd eyebrow waggle that earned him a mild slap on the arm._

Ron sat between Harry and Neville, across from Dean and Seamus. He loaded his plate with as much food as he could squeeze on, already mentally deciding what he would have for seconds. He shovelled in mouthful after mouthful, while Harry poked at his food. Huh. Brooding again. He would have to find a way to jolly him out of it later. Down the table, he could see Fred and George occasionally half rising and craning their necks around to look at the doors, like they were waiting for something. At first he thought it had to do with some prank of theirs; a fairly safe bet, since that was almost always the case. But the expressions on their faces were troubled, and that caused Ron to pause in mid-bite. Ever since the incident with Ginny last year, he had tried to be more aware of any changes in his siblings. Sure enough, across from the twins, Ginny was looking a bit put out too, frowning heavily at something George was saying. Ron glanced at the other end of the table. Even Percy was acting oddly, glancing at his watch every few minutes.

He watched in surprise as Percy stood up and marched over to Ginny, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Curiosity was killing him, but before he could begin to figure anything out, a loud clattering came from the end of the table Percy had just left. Someone had taken advantage of the absence of the Head Boy, and two turkeys had been Charmed to tango down the middle of the table, sending dishes and platters of food flying into the laps of shrieking students. By the time Ron had looked up again, Percy was hurrying over to get the damage under control, and Ginny had disappeared. Weird. He was going to have to find out what was up.

It gnawed at the back of his mind throughout the rest of pudding, robbing him of the full enjoyment of what had promised to be a tasty tart. Afterwards, as he had predicted earlier (Ha! Maybe he wasn't rubbish at divination!) he had spent several hours furiously scrawling on his roll of parchment, desperately measuring with each added line. With a triumphant flourish of his quill, he jotted down the final word, flopping back in his chair with a loud exhalation. He and the rest of the group from earlier had made a mad dash for the library, and had gotten one of the good tables in the back. His eyes darted around the room surreptitiously, trying to spot any sign of Hermione. It was strange, but no matter how angry he was with her, being in the same room as her made him feel...more comfortable. Or something. Whatever it was didn't really matter, since she didn't seem to be there after all. He sighed, beginning to wonder if maybe he should look for a way to drop a hint that he would take her back.

_Take me...? Oh, how very sporting of you, Ron! Considering that if you hadn't acted such a prat, none of that would have been necessary!_

"Merlin, there for a minute, I was afraid we were going to be at it all night! Are the rest of you ready to head up?" Ron asked, shoving his books into his bag, careful not to smudge the still damp ink on his essay.

Seamus scowled up at him. "It may've escaped your notice, but the rest of us haven't exactly finished yet."

Ron blinked. Sure enough, the other four were still hard at work. Either he had just done some of his most brilliant work, or else he had majorly fucked up somewhere along the line. Since Hermione wasn't here, he had a pretty good idea about which it was. Oh well. Flitwick was generally merciful.

He ignored Seamus. "Are you almost done, Harry?"

"Hm," Harry grunted, without looking up.

"I said, are you almost done?"

"...hm."

"Think you might fancy a quick game of chess before bed?"

Slowly, Harry put down his quill, looking up to gaze at Ron calmly. "Ron, we're friends, aren't we?"

Ron cocked his head, unsure what Harry was getting at. "Yeeeeees," he said uncertainly.

"Best friends? Do anything for each other, and all that?"

"Harry, what the hell are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying, that as a friend, I feel like I should let you know that if you don't shove off and let me finish in peace, I'll tell Fred and George about how you told Olga Barnsworth and Midge Fowley that they were madly in love with them, and that it would be a good idea to send your brothers the giant matching pink perfumed teddy bears."

Ron had to snicker at that. That Valentine's Day had been the best one to date, with the twins jumping at every shadow. Then he thought of something. "But Harry, I wasn't the one that did it, you know that."

Harry's eyes glinted wickedly, but he said with a perfectly straight face, "Ron, _you_ know that, and _I_ know that, but can you imagine the hell your brothers will put you through before you can convince them?"

_Hermione giggled. Harry often gave the impression of being meek and quiet, but he could hold his own with the best of them when he wanted to. She was sure that if he hadn't had all the darkness weighing on him, he would have been a holy terror._

Ron turned green. He tried to imagine it; it was like looking into the fires of hell. Sometimes, he wished he had the kind of brothers that just punched you and got over it.

Pretending to be deaf to the chortling of Dean, Seamus, and Neville, he shouldered his bag. "Fine. Be that way. I had been about to offer to let you copy mine, but I think I've changed my mind."

Harry peered over the tops of his glasses. "Thanks, but that might look a tad suspicious, seeing as how we were assigned different subjects, don't you think?"

He huffed, turning away. "Bloody tosser," he muttered.

"Language, Ron!" Harry called out behind him.

Ron nearly tripped over his own feet, but it had nothing to do with their size. Hearing those words from the wrong mouth sent a pang through his chest, and he hurried from the library, hoping no one would notice. How long had it been since he heard her say that? For that matter, how long had it been since he heard her say anything? He wished he had waited a little bit longer before looking away today; if he had known she was going to say something, he would've. In a way he couldn't quite describe, he was lonely. Sure, he had Harry, and even the other boys in his year, but there was something different about Hermione. He missed talking with her, about all kinds of things. She was the only one who understood everything he did about Harry, the only one that was even safe to talk to about him. Sometimes, with everything that went on around Harry, Ron got worried, and it was nice to be able to have someone to hash it out with, because Merlin only knew that trying to talk to Harry in one of his moods was like having high tea with a rock.

And it wasn't only things about Harry, or even school. Sometimes they talked about stupid things, or even nothing really at all, but for some reason, it was always interesting with Hermione. On the rare occasions he was brave enough to talk about personal things, like his problems with his brothers, she was the person he felt most comfortable about going to. If she just hadn't got that stupid cat! Everything would be fine now, and they could be sitting in front of the fire playing a game of chess while they waited for Harry.

The Common Room was surprisingly quiet when he arrived, but he supposed that most people were either still in the library, or had gone up to their rooms. In fact, he almost thought the room was completely empty, before spying his brothers in the corner. Harry's fake threat came to mind, and he made for the stairs, even though he knew that they weren't actually after him.

Sadly, feet his size weren't exactly built for stealth, and after this last growth-spurt, he didn't quite have them under control yet. Catching his foot on the end of the rug drew their attention, and he sighed. Fortunately, they didn't look to be in a teasing mood tonight. Ron remembered the odd way they had been acting earlier, and decided that now was as good a time as any to find out why.

"So what's up with the two of you? You, Percy, and Ginny were strange tonight at dinner," he asked, resting his bag on the back of a sofa.

The twins looked at each other. "Ron, when was the last time you talked to Hermione?" George asked cautiously.

He bristled at the unexpected topic. Not wanting them to see how bothered he was, he snapped sarcastically, "If you mean actual words, who knows, or cares? But if you mean when did I last see her, then it was some time this afternoon."

"She didn't say anything? Anything at all?" Fred pressed.

"No, she just stood there flapping her lips for a few minutes, but then she left. What's all this about, anyway?"

The twins leaned back on the edge of the table, their arms crossed in front of their chests.

"I was sure she was going to do it, Fred. Would've laid money on it, in fact."

"Me too, George. Of course, if I came up against a face like that, it might scare me off too. Poor girl is probably having nightmares right now."

_She felt Ron's anger rise. Hermione knew they were referring to the expression he wore, which strongly resembled Crookshanks getting his tail slammed in the door. Ron took it as an insult to his looks, which he was sensitive about. Being a ginger wasn't the easiest lot in life, and it only compounded matters when you were covered in freckles._

"What the hell does any of this have to do with her?" he asked brusquely.

"Ron, can't you put all this behind you? I mean, we're all for holding a good grudge and all, but this is getting ridiculous."

Ron slammed his fist on the top of the sofa. "Why is everyone giving _me_ grief for this? It was her bloody cat; I didn't do anything wrong!"

"No one's taking sides! Yeah, it sucked about Scabbers, and she might've tried harder to keep her cat in line, but It's over now! Do you and Harry have to keep punishing her for the sake of a broom and a half dead rat?"

"It's about more than the damn rat, alright? Merlin, you're supposed to be my brothers, not hers! Why are you so set on sticking up for her?"

_Because that was who the twins were. They thumbed their nose at authority, and lived to top themselves with each new prank, but they believed strongly in sticking by your friends. She could tell Ron knew this, and it only added to his shame; his brothers might get on his nerves, but he looked up to them, and their disapproval hurt, especially since he knew he mostly deserved it._

Fred cocked his head, rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "Oh, I dunno. Let me think. Hey, maybe it was because her two best friends abandoned her!"

Ron ducked his head, stung. "We didn't...we didn't abandon her."

"Really? She looked pretty abandoned today, when she almost-" George was cut off by Fred's elbow.

"What? When she almost what?" Ron asked, growing worried. His knuckles turned white, his eyes darting back and forth between his brothers. A sick, queasy feeling lodged in his gut when he realized he hadn't seen her at dinner tonight.

"No. You know what, George? If he can't be bothered to find out from her himself, then he doesn't deserve to know."

The two turned to the stairs, and desperation pulled the words out of his mouth.

"I just want her to apologize, okay? Just once, I want her to admit she was wrong, and tell me she's sorry!"

George shot Fred a pained look. "You hear that? He just wants her to _say she's sorry_. Freddie, I think I'm getting a migraine."

Fred slung an arm around George's shoulders. "Me too. I think it's irony overload. Let's go up and see if Lee will sing us to sleep with a soothing lullaby."

They had barely clomped up three steps when he had shot forward, gripping the backs of their jumpers.

"Wait! Was she...is she alright? Nothing really bad's happened to her, has it?"

They must have seen how upset he was, because they relented slightly.

"Well, she is now. Sort of," said Fred, scratching the back of his head. "But she would be doing a lot better if she wasn't on the outs with you. Maybe if you didn't look at her like you were planning on murdering her in her sleep would be a good start, yeah?"

"You might get something out of her if you tried toning down the prat level," George advised, patting him on the shoulder.

"But not _too_ much. We wouldn't want you to go destroying the delicate balance of nature," Fred added.

Ron followed slowly, his feet dragging as he entered his room. He dropped his bag on the floor, and then threw himself on top of the bed, burying his face in the thick crimson duvet. They still hadn't told him what was wrong with Hermione. Surely it couldn't have been too bad, or everyone else would know. Then again, some of the things that had happened to the three of them the last few years had been pretty bad, and only a handful of people knew the truth, so that wasn't saying much. Could it have anything to do with the odd way she had been acting since the start of the year?

He considered what his brothers had said about making things okay with her; he wanted to, but there was a problem. Even if he could look past everything, he had no idea what to do next. He couldn't bring himself to say he was sorry, not when she had been the cause of most of it. Still, he had thought he had gotten his point across by now. It was true that he had wanted to get a good dig in at her, but had he crossed a line? Was he hurting her more than he had intended? It seemed impossible, but everyone else seemed to think so. He mulled it over for hours, long past the time that the others had come in and fallen asleep in their beds. In the end, he could only come to a sort of compromise. He would try to hold back on saying anything nasty, and instead avoid her even more, so he wouldn't be as tempted. He wasn't able to bring himself to forgive her quite so easily, but he had grown tired of fighting, and didn't want to make this any worse than it had to be, either. If she hadn't apologized by the time they were on the train home, he would...well, he would say something then. What, he hadn't a clue, but something was sure to come to him. Maybe he could get someone to drop her a hint. Someone like Harry, or Ginny. He paused, thinking of Ginny's likely reaction. No, it would be much safer to go with Harry.

Satisfied that he had a plan, his guilt settled down to a dull roar, enough to be able to let him fall asleep. But not enough, however, for it to be peaceful, and images of her face from this afternoon, coupled with twisted scenarios of what might have happened to her that his brothers weren't telling him, plagued his dreams long into the night...

_Hermione sighed, patting his shoulder as sleep ebbed around him. One of the strangest things about seeing everything from his point of view was being able to understand why he acted the way he did. It wasn't always right, and quite often, he could be an insufferable prat, but she could still understand him. Though she had forgiven him for these things long ago, dredging through them brought to mind old hurts, and she wondered how much they were still affecting her without her knowing it. She may have forgiven, but she still needed to move on. Hopefully, dealing with all of this the way they were now would help her with that._


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review, especially those of you who have recently messaged me asking where the next chapters were. My sliver of RL got in the way, but that is unlikely to happen again soon. Special thanks to HalfASlug, my beta from across the pond.**

**AN 1: Some of you have been worried that I am making everything bad that happened between them Ron's fault. Don't worry, Hermione will have her less than perfect moments too! But the point of this story is not to assign blame, as will be addressed in a few chapters from now. Sometimes one character will come off looking badly over another, and sometimes they will switch places. Also, other characters perceptions of each other will be different; when a group of people look at the same situation, opinions still vary, and sometimes even disregard the facts.**

**AN 2: I have also heard that the twins are too nice, and were cruel in the books. First, I don't believe they were ever cruel. Thoughtless, yes, but not cruel. And I can't believe that Ron hated them and wanted to get away from them. During the fight he had with Harry in fourth year he spent time with them, and he helped George after Fred's death. The twins are not one dimensional jokers. That may be their defining trait, but real people have more than one side to them. And siblings can be absolute shits to one another, while others don't see that side. With my own sister, sometimes we get along great, and others we are complete bitches to one another. But for those wanting a bit more brotherly conflict, it's coming up next year. Anyway, on with the story. Allons-y!**

Hermione stroked the fluffy cat in her lap, feeling rather like the villain in a spy film. The feeling was heightened by the looks she had received from Harry and Ron earlier. She had sat behind them in silence for as long as she could, but had grown more exasperated with each passing moment. Why couldn't they see that Harry going into Hogsmeade was a bad idea? He might as well trot outside with a target pinned to his shirt and have done with it. She knew she was a stickler for the rules, and could come across as an insufferable goody-goody, but Harry's life was at stake! Ron's too, for that matter; it was more than likely that he would get caught in the crossfire if Black was able to get to Harry. Couldn't they see past their anger at her long enough to see that she was just trying to look after them? Someone had to, because between them they weren't showing the sense that God gave a goose, as her great-aunt was fond of saying.

_Ron shrugged. What could he say? They were young boys, and young boys were fools by default. He knew this for a fact from vast personal experience. That was the last year that death had seemed so far away, unable to touch them. Danger was little more than a vague possibility, something you knew happened to others, but would obviously never happen to you. Things like Zonko's and Honeydukes had seemed far more real, more immediately important. Looking back it had been stupid, but then it had been the most important thing on their minds. Except for Hermione. Fourteen going on forty, she had been the lone voice of common sense. He wondered how things would have gone if they had ever listened to her; he wouldn't be surprised if he found out she developed bleeding ulcers by the time she was sixteen._

By all rights, she should go straight to Professor McGonagall and tell her everything. Her teeth nibbled on her already raw lower lip. But should she, really? There had turned out to be nothing wrong with the Firebolt, and look where that got her. With the Dementors roaming the area, surely Black wouldn't be able to slip past them again. And Harry was so rarely able to enjoy himself outside of Hogwarts, and he had been so upset after finding out how his parents had been betrayed. Maybe one day out wouldn't hurt. She shook her head. No, letting his guard down like that was more likely to get him killed. He wasn't going to listen to her, so she wouldn't bother trying again, but she would keep an eye on him. If it looked like he was going to manage to sneak out, then she would tell, but she would keep quiet until then. He would have to find a way out first, although that would be made easier by that stupid map the twins had given him. When she thought about the way they had blithely handed over a means for Harry to get in more trouble, she could cheerfully kick their teeth in. She would just have to be careful to keep her time straight that day. The more she used the Time-Turner, the more things began to blur together. Sighing, she checked her watch. Speaking of which, she should give it another couple of turns. She was falling behind, and needed to spend a few hours in the library.

_Ron watched with interest as she pulled the device from her jumper, giving it a few practiced turns, the glittering sand shifting fluidly in the tiny hourglass. He had been laid up with a broken leg when she used it with Harry, and this was his first time seeing it. To this day, he was still a bit shocked that she had been allowed to use one, no matter how mature she may have been. Time-Turners had been the downfall of much more experienced wizards, and Hermione was already under enough mental strain without it._

_The speeding up of time had nothing to do with the Time-Turner, but he found he had only moved a few days forward. Hermione was in the Common Room flicking through a stack of parchment, and he recognized that particular scowl; she had been thwarted, and he had a good idea who had done it._

Hermione glared at her notes, but the words didn't register with her. She was too upset to concentrate, and that only served to upset her further. Did those two take her for an idiot? Oh, they thought they had been so clever and sly, but in reality, they couldn't have been any more obvious if they had tried. They had looked far too pleased with themselves, while Harry should have been sulking about being left behind, with Ron playing the sympathetic friend. The hammy way Harry had said goodbye had been over the top, but what had gotten her eyes rolling had been Ron, who had winked. Winked! Who even did that? She hoped he didn't have any aspirations to the theatre, that's all she could say.

_What the hell had she expected? He was fourteen, for the love of Merlin! It wasn't as if Hogwarts had offered a class in Subterfuge. And they couldn't have been that bad, because no one else had noticed. No, she was just miffed that they had managed to pull it off under her nose._

The thing was, she couldn't even tell anyone. She had no proof, and by the time she could find some, the boys would be back, and she would just have them even madder at her than they had been before, with nothing to show for it. Grumbling to herself, she settled in with several of her school books, trying to memorize as much as possible. Hours passed as she immersed herself in her work, the tower nearly silent since most of the other students were gone. She was so engrossed that it took her several minutes before she recognized the tapping that was coming from the window, made by a disgruntled looking owl. Hurrying over, she let it in, only to discover that the message was addressed to her. With a feeling of foreboding, she opened it, quickly skimming over the awkwardly formed letters. Disbelievingly, she reread it again. And again. Shakily, she returned to her seat, her vision foggy with unshed tears.

Poor Buckbeak! Poor Hagrid! She had known the chance had been slim, but she had still had a bit of hope that things wouldn't have come to this. Guiltily, she wondered if she could have done something more. If she had just tried harder, maybe she could have found something that would help, but she had let herself get overwhelmed with her studies and everything else going on, and Buckbeak had slid lower on her list of priorities.

_Typical of Hermione. Even when she was running in six directions at once, driving herself to the breaking point, she was still concerned with the troubles of others and how she could help them. There were times when this trait of hers had driven him mental (and sparked his jealousy on more than one occasion), but it was also one of the reasons he loved her so much._

With a heavy heart, she stood back up. Hagrid should have someone with him right now, not that she knew how much good she would be. Harry and Ron should be getting back soon; maybe she would wait for them, since they needed to be told anyway. Other students passed her as she made her way into the main part of the castle, but she didn't stop to speak to any of them. She had planned to wait by the door for the boys, but instead ran into them on the top of the stairs. Ron, unsurprisingly, was hostile, but she made herself deliver her message anyway.

She had been expecting them to leave her there as soon as she had told them. But when Ron had told her that she wouldn't have to do things alone anymore, she had broken down completely. Before she had known what she was doing, she had thrown her arms around him, sobbing into his neck. There had been the fear that he would push her away, angry once more, but it had felt too good to be close to him again and she wanted to be near him, even if it wasn't going to last. The relief she had felt when his hand reached up to hesitantly pat her on the head had been intense. His hand was large, and his attempt at affection clumsy, but to her, it was the best feeling in the world. It was enough to spur her into the apology she had been meaning to give, and his acceptance of it was a heavy weight off her shoulders. Harry looked rather amused, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Things were going to be alright between the three of them now, and that was all that mattered. She blushed as she pulled away from Ron, finding his ears to be even redder than her face. The hesitant smile he gave her sent a fluttery feeling through her chest, stronger than it had ever been before. Later, she would need to examine it, but right now she was too happy for puzzles, and there was still the matter of Buckbeak. But as they walked back up to the tower, she found that her gaze rested more and more often on Ron...

_She was so close to realizing what she felt that Ron could almost taste it. There was a pull between them, and Hermione was about to stop fighting it. Instinctively, he knew the moment would be soon, and he was excited to find out what had finally made her see him in a different light. They had never really talked about it, but he had always wondered._

_Again, the passage of time was only a matter of days; this time, it was late at night, and they were in Hermione's bedroom. The other girls were sleeping, their deep, even breaths faintly heard through the thick bed curtains. Hermione was lying in her own bed, unable to sleep, her mind busy at work unknotting a puzzle that had been steadily growing until she could no longer ignore it, and Ron made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, her face dimly visible by the moonlight coming through the crack of the curtains._

Hermione stared up into the darkness, one hand twirling a lock of hair as her mind sorted through recent events. Everything had been so strange lately, and she was trying to sift through and decide what were really her own thoughts and motivations, and what were merely the effects of the Time-Turner and stress. If her parents could see her behavior over the last few days, they wouldn't recognize her. She couldn't even recognize herself. Hitting people, dropping out of lessons...what would she do next? Her lack of self-control was frightening and exhilarating all at once, giving her an odd sense of liberation. She took a deep breath through her nose, exhaling slowly from her mouth. She needed to get herself together. Time was running out for Buckbeak; she couldn't lose it now. But here, in the privacy of her own room, she could admit that hitting Malfoy had been supremely satisfying on a deep level, and when she remembered Ron's expression, she had to choke back her giggles. He had looked as if he couldn't decide whether he was afraid or proud, his eyes wide as he held her hand back. Talk about role reversals! She had derived a certain pleasure from surprising him, showing him that she wasn't quite as rigid as he believed her to be. It wasn't as if she had never wanted to tear into Malfoy; she just usually had better restraint than that.

And she had never, in all of her life, imagined she would ever walk out of a classroom, or show such disrespect to a professor. But all of that Divination bunk rubbed her the wrong way, with people looking for signs everywhere. If only they would pay attention to the facts, and what was going on around them, then they could have a much more accurate guess about what would happen in the future! Not that it would do them much good. People generally couldn't even handle what was going on in the here and now; what made them think they could deal with things that haven't even happened yet?

But more disturbing than her actions had been her reactions to Ron. Every look he had given her had sent a tingle throughout her body, and she couldn't seem to get enough of it. She had even caught her self sliding her chair closer than was strictly necessary to his on more than one occasion, and once, when he had bent over to tie his shoes, she had caught herself admiring the shape of his bum. She wished she could blame it on the Time-Turner, but she was aware this was something that had been developing for a while now. Her thighs rubbed together before she could stop herself.

_Sweat broke out on Ron's forehead. The temperature in the room had risen uncomfortably high. He didn't need Auror training to tell him that things were about to take an unusual turn._

This was so wrong! How could she possibly have these sort of feelings for Ron? Well, he was a good person, and could be quite sweet when he wasn't busy being a prat, but he wasn't the type of boy that she had decided that she was going to fall in love with. He was light years away from the quiet, mature and studious boy she had pictured. Could it be because they were in such close proximity to each other on a regular basis? If that was the case, why Ron and not Harry? They certainly fought a lot less, and Harry had a (usually) more even temperament. Maybe she felt the same way about him too, and just hadn't noticed. Concentrating on Harry, she tried to picture being involved with him romantically.

_Sitting forward on his knees, Ron held his breath. She and Harry had always said there was nothing like that between him, but he had always found it hard to believe. Harry was everything a girl usually wanted, and Hermione...well, _he_ had fallen in love with her, so why was it such a stretch that Harry would do the same? He hadn't thought about it in years, but living through it all again, even if most of it was through her perspective, brought some of his old doubts back._

Hermione thought of Harry. She thought about his smile, and how he looked playing Quidditch. She imagined the way it felt when he brushed up against her, or the way his voice sounded when he said her name. She felt...nothing. Alright, step it up a bit. Harry, taking her in his arms and kissing her-no, that was too much. Tears streamed down her face as her body shook in silent laughter. Well, so much for Harry. It was just too funny for words, and more than a little sick. Strike out Harry, then. For comparison, she would do the same for Ron, and try to pinpoint the differences.

Almost instantly, she could tell that he was another matter entirely. His smile was somehow brighter, his lips pulling up just a bit farther on the left side, giving him an adorably off-kilter look. He was usually slouched against something, giving him a laid-back, relaxed air that was enhanced by his manner of dress. His collar was slightly wrinkled, and his tie was half undone. His shirt was almost always untucked, and his jumper was pushed up to expose his forearms. Such sloppiness would annoy her in anyone else, but on Ron, she found it strangely attractive. And when she thought about him touching her, his hands gripping her arms, her mind immediately jumped to his mouth, his wide lips coming into contact with her skin...the noise that left her mouth this time was no laugh, but a small whimper, and the heat between her legs intensified unbearably.

Her hips gave a slight thrust, and she gasped shallowly. She wasn't stupid, she knew what was happening. In about four months she would be fifteen, and it wasn't the first time she had experienced arousal. But it had never been this strong before, always a fleeting feeling that would go away as soon as she concentrated on something else. This time though, she didn't want it to go away. She was curious, and wanted to see where these feelings would take her now that she was finally letting them. Slowly, but with determination, she lowered her hand under the elastic of her knickers, to find herself slick and wet.

_Ron scuttled backwards with a shriek, falling off the bed. "Here, you don't want to be doing that!" his voice cracked, going higher than it had in nearly ten years as he huddled on the floor. This was wrong. This was wrong. This was so bloody wrong! A bloke should never get this hard for himself, which was basically what was happening to him now. As her lust intensified, so did his, and it was all directed at him. Which would be a major ego boost if he wasn't kneeling on the floor of a fourteen year old girl's bedroom while she learned how to diddle herself. Merlin, he didn't know whether he was going to have to Obliviate or arrest himself when he got home. Maybe both. Yes, both was good._

Working her fingers gently, Hermione tried to discover what felt best, thinking of Ron all the while. She had to stuff her other hand into her mouth to make sure she didn't get too loud; the last thing she wanted was to explain this to the other girls. The sensations were strange at first, and she felt a bit stupid, but after a few minutes it began to feel better, and she developed a rhythm.

_Panting along with her, Ron sat on the floor with his eyes squeezed shut. "Right now would be the perfect time for a tasteful fade to black!" he gritted out. His fingers dug into the material of his jeans, but he refused to watch her or touch himself, although that last part was becoming harder and harder to fight. He shifted in a futile effort to find relief. Her frustration at her lack of release was equal to his, and he knew it wasn't going to get any better. At this point, he knew her body better than she did, and the way she was touching herself wasn't going to get the job done. But Hermione wasn't the sort to give up quickly, and he wondered how long he was going to have to suffer. Why did women's bodies have to be so complicated? For men, it was simply up, down, and repeat, add pressure and speed to taste._

She was so close, she could feel herself teetering on the edge! But nothing she did was quite enough, and she couldn't bring herself that last little bit to completion. With a huff, she gave up, her nightgown twisted around her hips, sweat dripping from her temples. She had heard that it took time to figure out the best way to achieve orgasm, and now she could believe it. Still, it had been quite pleasurable even without finishing, and she wouldn't mind doing it again. With a guilty start, she realized she had just tried to get herself off while thinking of her best friend. Her best friend, whom she apparently fancied. Was it really that bad? It was something most people did, and Ron himself was probably no stranger to the act. She would feel better if she had some sort of permission, but it wasn't as if she could pop up at breakfast and say, 'Good morning, Ron. I fingered myself thinking about you last night, and was wondering if you wouldn't mind if I made it a habit. Pass the toast, please.'

_Ron laughed out loud. At one point her doing so would have been the answer to his (usually wet) dreams, but at this particular time would have just fried his brain._

She was being silly. What she was doing was perfectly natural for a girl her age, and nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, masturbation was an efficient way to deal with stress, and she certainly had enough of that. Besides, this was just a passing fancy. In a few months at the most she would get over it, so there was no reason to make such a fuss. She would enjoy it while she could, do her best not to make a fool of herself, and then go back to being nothing more than best friends. Her mind at ease and her body relaxed, she melted into sleep, perfectly content.

_Sure, easy for her. She didn't have a stiff one in her trousers now, did she? Discomfort aside, the whole thing was pretty amazing. He knew Hermione was a passionate person, but for some reason, he had never thought that she had any real physical interest in him for very long before they got together. It was odd, but flattering, to know that it was he and not Harry that had sparked such a desire in her. She had admitted to physical attraction, but she was still denying that she had any deeper feelings for him. But that wouldn't last long, because Hermione didn't like to lie, even to herself. From the Yule Ball to about the end of sixth year, this would have been enough to start with; But from his seventeenth birthday on, he would have traded this scene for even the smallest hint of love. He knew it was coming, but it felt as if it couldn't come fast enough. Hermione's love for him had always been mysterious to him, and being so close to finally having answers was driving him mental._

_The air shuddered around him, and he knew that the next memory wouldn't be long, but it would be important. The darkness began to fade away, and he was in a familiar dimly lit room, the panic from Hermione's beating heart thudding in time with his._

Hermione was about to die, and her mind might be filled with a hundred tiny regrets, but she was too busy concentrating on standing upright to worry about things like that. To summarize; a homicidal maniac bent on murdering one of her best friends had dragged her other best friend into the Shrieking Shack, breaking his leg while luring them into a trap. No one knew where they were, their cries would go unheard, and they had absolutely no means of defending themselves. To her left, Harry was looking rather unstable himself, and on his other side, Ron looked just about ready to pass out from the pain he must be in. Alright, that left her to think of something, but nothing came to her. Try as she might, the only thing happening was the rapid burnout of her brain as the gears spun uselessly. Harry stepped forward, murder in his eyes, and it was all she could do to hold him back; Ron hung onto his other arm, using the weight of his swaying body to help her hold Harry. She pleaded with Harry, but Ron was speaking to Black, his voice filled with a determination she rarely heard. Here he was, a fourteen year old boy with a broken leg, facing down a crazed killer, telling him that he was willing to die for his friend. Suddenly, everything else faded into the background, and the boy next to her was all she could see. Things twisted and clicked into place with an ease and rightness that would have made her laugh in any other situation.

Hadn't she said, little more than a year ago, what kind of man she would fall in love with? No, not her silly little list of silly little girl dreams. She had said that she wanted a man who was brave, whose actions would match his bold words. Someone who could be counted on to do the right thing, who would stand up for others. And there he was, red hair, freckles, large feet and an even larger appetite; rude, insensitive Ron Weasley. And he was wonderful. Not perfect, not even in the neighborhood, but wonderful all the same. And she knew that it was more than just a passing fancy, or a surge of hormones. She cared deeply for him, and there could be something between them if it was given a chance. Marvellous, Hermione. The subject of your adolescent yearnings and revelations are riveting, but maybe you could concentrate on the little matter of getting out of here alive before you go back to swooning.

Thoughts of Ron were shoved to the back of her mind for later, along with a mental note to determine just when her inner voice began to sound disturbingly like Snape.

_Ron stared, his face blank with shock. That was it? He looked pitiful, barely able to stand without leaning on Harry. Yeah, he had meant what he said, but it wasn't really that special, was it? For some reason, he had thought the moment would be bigger, with more fanfare, but Hermione had accepted it as fact, and the world moved on as usual. Of course, she would probably try to talk herself out of it later, and she would have doubts along the way, but this was it. It wasn't fully formed, but it started here, this something that was no longer just friendship, this something that was something more. But maybe it was better this way. Because, when he thought about it, the moment was definitely him. Afraid, confused, probably doing something stupid, but trying like hell to do the right thing. Merlin knows he didn't always succeed, but he tried. And that's what Hermione was seeing; not all the words and bluster he normally tried to hide behind. Here he was just...Ron. And that was what she wanted. He looked at himself again, thinking that maybe he didn't seem quite so pathetic after all._

_The moment was up, but Ron didn't look away until the very end. He needed to remember this, when times were low, and the doubts crept in. All he needed to be to make Hermione happy was in that boy he had been. Nothing fancy, or powerful. Just him. Yes, he had gotten better about being sensitive (not great, but better), and yeah, he had come up in the world a bit, but this right here was the core, and it hadn't really changed at all. Except that this had been one of his rare moments of being a man, and he knew that this Ron would go on to be just a big a prat as he was before. And yet, he was a man now, and seeing this eased many of the worries of failure that had been plaguing him in the last few months. If he could show that kind of strength at fourteen, then at twenty three, chances were he was even better. And maybe that was what Hermione had been trying to tell him this whole time._

_The fear of the Shack was replaced by the hush of the hospital room, early morning sunlight streaming through the windows behind Hermione. He followed her down the aisle to his bed, which was behind a screen._

Hermione tiptoed across the room quietly, in case there were any other patients besides Ron. They had had a good talk last night, and she wanted to make sure his leg wasn't bothering him anymore. He had been given a potion for the pain, but it should be nearly time for it to wear off. Rounding the side of the screen, the sight that met her brought her up short. There was Ron, deeply asleep and snoring with a small smile on his face.

...And cuddling Harry like an oversized teddy bear.

_Ron's hands covered his face, muffling his groan. Bleeding hell, he had heard about this part, but watching was even worse. Pain potions always made him a bit wonky, and sadly, this wasn't the only embarrassing moment it had caused._

Harry looked up at her with panic in his wide green eyes, giving a futile wiggle. "Hermione, thank Merlin! Help me!"

She raised her hand to her mouth, but it didn't hide her smirk. "Oh my! Should I give you two a moment? I can come back later."

"Ha ha. Do you hear that? I'm laughing. Now could you stop being clever and help me? I've been stuck like this for the last hour! His leg may be broken, but he's got a grip like a pro wrestler!"

"Why don't you just wake him up? Ron? Ron, it's time to get up now," she said loudly.

"You think I haven't tried that? He won't wake up, I tell you!"

The only reaction from Ron was to wrap his arms tighter around Harry, nuzzling his face into his neck.

Harry bucked wildly. "Damn it, I can feel his lips on my skin! _His. Lips!"_

Taking pity on him, Hermione moved to the side of the bed and began to try to pry Ron's arms apart. Harry helped, squirming lower down the bed. He was nearly free, but before Hermione could move away, she was pulled in, an unwilling replacement for Harry.

"Ron, stop it! This isn't funny! Ron!" she yelled, kicking her legs uselessly. She had discovered her feelings for him less than twelve hours ago; it was far too early to be leaping into bed with him!

At the foot of the bed, Harry stood and adjusted his glasses, his hair even more hopelessly tangled than usual. "Well now, maybe I should be giving you two a moment? You look to be a better fit than I was," he waggled his eyebrows, a smarmy grin on his face.

She glared at him. Where did he get off, thinking this was funny? "Harry, help! He's crushing my ribs!"

His grin got wider. "And risk getting pulled back in myself? Nuh-uh."

Ron rubbed his cheek against her, muttering, "'Mione."

Well. Yes. This would have to happen with a witness.

"How cute, he recognizes you! And he's given you a new nickname, too! Wonder why we never thought to call you that."

"Don't you dare! You start that, and I swear I'll call you Harold from now on!" Hermione snarled.

Harry cocked his head to the side. "But Hermione...my name isn't Harold."

"And my name isn't 'Mione! The only reason Ron's getting away with it is because he's drugged out of his mind! Now, get me out of here!"

The door opened, and voices entered the room. Hermione paused, hoping whoever it was would be able to help her.

"D'you think he's up yet? I'd say we had time to eat first, if I didn't know Mum would have our heads."

"Oh, shut up, Fred. He broke his leg, the least we could do is look in on him," came a second, higher voice.

Hermione groaned. Perfect. She should have known they would show up. Ginny wouldn't be so bad, but the twins! They lived to find her in positions like this, to throw back at her whenever she got too naggy. She rarely gave them anything, but here she was, trussed up like a Christmas goose.

Ron's siblings came around the screen, shock filling their faces. The twins began to cackle madly, leaning into each other. Even Ginny was amused to a degree that Hermione found unwholesome.

"Lookit, Fred! Our ickle Ronniekins has become a man! Although I am a bit surprised at you, Hermione, but I guess even you were helpless against the Weasley charm in the end. Or what little of it Ron has."

Fred gave George a push. "Quick, go get Colin and that camera of his. This is way too good to pass up; I bet Ron's ears will melt clean off his head when he sees this!"

"Yes, why don't you do that? Then we can all have photographic proof that Ron got a girl in bed before you two prats." Ginny drawled sarcastically.

The twins glared at her. "Way to go and ruin our fun, Gin," George sulked.

"Ginny!" Hermione wailed, wishing she could evaporate.

"Sorry, just trying to help. But you have to admit, it's pretty hilarious."

"I'm laughing on the inside. Do any of you know of a way to get him to move? Nothing Harry or I do seems to work."

"Well that's because you're not doing it right, are you?" Fred asked.

"Pathetic, really. The two of you should know what motivates Ron by now," George agreed.

Hermione looked at Harry, and saw he was just as confused as she was. "What?"

The twins stepped away, bowing and motioning Ginny forward. She cleared her throat.

"RON! BREAKFAST'S ON!" she bellowed, her voice sounding just like Mrs. Weasley.

Instantly Ron sprang into a sitting position, sending her tumbling to the floor. "Save some bacon for me!"

She pulled herself up, blushing at Ron's bewildered face as he stared at her from under sleep tousled fringe.

"Hermione? What...what were you doing in my bed?" he squeaked, drawing his covers up higher.

George patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, little brother. Fred and I are here to defend your virtue. Unless something happened last night that you'd care to tell us about?"

Hermione threw her pillow at him, just as Ron hit him with his.

"What are you even doing in here? No, let me guess. Mum made you?"

"You wound us! And here we went through the effort of taking up a collection of sweets for you last night!" Fred exclaimed.

Ron brightened. "Let's have them, then!"

Harry sat next to Hermione, and they shared a look, knowing what was coming.

"Well, we took a percentage. Here's what was left after our cut." Fred handed him a few foul colored beans.

"You bleeding tossers! You stuck me with the gross ones on purpose!"

Hermione watched as the Weasleys squabbled amongst themselves, while Harry laughed beside her. Her attention was focused on Ron, and what she had nearly let slip last night. In all the excitement, she had almost told him how she felt, but had held back at the last minute. She was still taking it all in herself, and she had no idea how he might react. And...she didn't think Ron was ready for a serious relationship. A real one required commitment and responsibility, two things Ron generally loathed. No, he wasn't ready yet, but to be honest, she probably wasn't, either. They had only recently become friends again after a huge fight, and she didn't think it needed the strain of adding anything more serious. And the thought of a relationship like that was a bit scary, because she knew that she would take it seriously, and it would hurt if he didn't want it as much as she did.

Even so, she knew that when she was ready, she wanted to try it with Ron. There was something there, she could tell, but now wasn't the right time. She would give him a chance to grow up a bit. Maybe next year, they would be ready. Or maybe it would be the year after that. She didn't mind. He was worth waiting for. She just hoped that it wouldn't be too long...

_Sorry love, but it seems that it takes nearly four years for a teaspoon to fill to that emotional level. On the plus side, it means I didn't rush you into anything you weren't ready for, right? Ha. He knew she was right, that it had been too soon for them, but it wasn't much comfort. Not when he thought about all the petty little (and some not so little) ways they had pushed each other out of frustration. Why, fourth year alone...wait, fourth year. That was what was coming up next. His expression turned sour._

_"Krum."_


	15. Chapter 15

Guilt was a familiar feeling for Ron, not that that made it any easier to bear. Being wrong was also familiar, and sometimes he thought he ate more crow than he did chicken. He would never admit it, but Hermione had been right. Harry shouldn't have gone to Hogsmeade, and he was partially to blame. Harry might have listened to him, especially if he had told him he would stay at the castle, too. And what had they even gotten out of it? A couple of trick teacups and some sweets? If Lupin hadn't shown up, Harry would be in deep shit. Where the guilt really came in was knowing that he had egged Harry on mainly to make Hermione mad. He was still fighting their stupid little war, and Harry had very nearly been a casualty.

But she was always so sure that she was right, so damn smug, that he couldn't resist the chance to pull something off without her. If he and Harry had made it back without a hitch, they could have rubbed it in her face for ages, as proof that she wasn't the only one who could be clever.

Well, maybe she was. Because he had been bloody useless, hadn't he. He had barely managed to choke out a feeble lie. Hermione would've come up with something that not only got them out of trouble, but she would've managed to get the map back too.

_His faith was flattering, but he was overestimating her. Aside from not leaving the castle in the first place, she couldn't think of anything that would have kept Harry out of trouble. Ron had done the best that the situation allowed for, but, as usual, he didn't give himself credit._

He trudged up the stairs next to Harry, angry at himself and the situation in general. Hermione was at the top, and seeing her made his temper flair. He knew he wasn't being fair, but she was easy to lash out at, and he needed a good fight. Of course, that was until the news about Buckbeak took the wind out of his sails. With everything that had been going on, he had nearly forgotten about the wrongfully accused hippogriff. As long as he was still swallowing his guilt about Harry, he might as well have a second serving. Pity he didn't have any gravy to make it go down a bit easier. Hermione had probably been tearing the library apart looking for anything that could help the case, which would explain why she looked dead on her feet. She shouldn't have had to do it alone. He and Harry...they had let her down. Maybe they had good reason, and maybe she had been to blame, too, but they had still let her down.

Of all her possible reactions, he hadn't expected her to throw herself at him, sobbing! At Harry, sure, but not him! His collar might never stand up properly again, it was so soaked with her tears, and she showed no sign of detaching. What was he supposed to do? She was pressed right up against him, as close as she could get, except for something blocking the way between them. Something soft, yet firm. Sort of round, and...squishy. What did she have under her robes? He raised a hand to shift whatever it was out of the way, and then it hit him. MERLIN'S WITHERED COCK, THOSE WERE TITS! They were bigger than before! How did she do that? Granted, they had been hidden under layers of robes and her uniform for nearly eight months, but still. Not that they were huge or anything; she had ages to go before she was in say, Madam Rosmerta's class, but they definitely seemed a bit bigger than they had at the end of August. And now they were pressed into him. _And he had been about to latch onto one like a Seeker going after a Snitch!_ Awkwardly, he diverted the path of his hand, ending up patting her head. She gave a weird sort of shuddery sigh before breaking away, leaving him slightly dizzy.

_Oh, the mental processes of teenage boys. Reducing what should have been a heartwarming moment into a contemplation on the dynamics of breast growth. She couldn't even bring herself to be irritated, especially since it was her breasts he was so interested in. Besides, he was fourteen. It was a natural reaction, and he hadn't gone ahead and copped a feel like most boys would. Of course, he probably knew he would pull back a bloody stump if he did, but points given where points were due._

Just when he thought he couldn't be any more surprised, Hermione apologized for Scabbers. He had imagined this moment in his head, in a dozen different ways. In some, he held it over her head, reveling in the fact that he was right and she was wrong. In others, he forgave her magnanimously, while she went all dewy-eyed over his kindness. The reality...was a little underwhelming. He didn't care anymore about who was wrong and who had been right. And the idea of Hermione going all simpering and adoring was ridiculous; wasn't the fact that she wasn't fluttery and giggly like other girls one of the things he liked best about her? Choking out a reply, he couldn't help returning the grin she gave him. How long had it been since he had seen her smile? He had missed it. He had missed _her_. Hagrid was right; the whole thing had been pointless. Someday, he might even admit it to her.

_She wasn't sure this counted as admitting, but she would take it. Hard not to, when he was feeling so affectionate towards her. Or was it towards her breasts? His attention kept wavering. No wonder he took so long to realize his feelings for her; his yo-yoing blood never stayed in the right head long enough for him to figure it out. Not that she had much room to talk; she had spent a fair amount of time admiring the fit of his trousers. Back _and_ front. There were benefits to snug hand me downs...yes. Carrying on._

_Where were they? Oh yes; reparation of friendship, worry over Buckbeak, and breast appreciation. Time had moved forward while she was thinking, and now they were standing at the front door of Hagrid's hut._

Ron followed Harry and Hermione out, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he had the last few nights when they'd come to visit. Crying people always made him nervous; he had no idea what to do, and usually ended up saying something to make it worse. And Hagrid didn't cry like normal people. Ron wasn't sure his ribs could take another crushing hug, but he would try to endure it if he could trade a punctured lung for Hermione not being set off by the large man's tears. Hermione was volatile enough at the best of times, but recently the smallest thing could get her going, and between her and Hagrid, he was beginning to feel rather like a human handkerchief.

And he was as upset about Buckbeak as the rest of them, he just...had a harder time showing it. Things like tears and distress were something you learned to mask early on when you had as many siblings as he did, and the result was that at times he came across as less than sympathetic. Which, to be fair, was sometimes the case; there were times even he had trouble telling when he was being insensitive or if he was just doing a bang up job of hiding his true feelings. Harry was a bit more open, but when he was upset, he brooded. When Ron was upset, he found it easier to get angry. So far, he had put most of his energy into helping Hermione look things up to help Buckbeak; a frustrating task, and one that sucked the energy right out of him. Harry was just as tired as he was, and Hermione...he didn't know what was up with her.

And now here was that albino bastard Malfoy and his two gargoyles. Why couldn't they shut up about Hagrid? They had caused enough trouble already, and he was in no mood to let another snotty comment pass. He could feel the anger building, and the urge to reach for his wand was so strong that-

What

the

HELL!

Hermione had just smacked Malfoy a good one, and looked like she was going back for more! He tried to hold her hand back, even though he had no idea why. She fought him off and pulled her wand, and for one tiny, flashing moment, he almost felt sorry for Malfoy. And then he didn't again. Nifty how that worked out. Hermione probably knew fifty ways to flay his skin and boil his guts, all while keeping him alive as she did it. And from the wild look on her face, he would be lucky if that was all she did. Draco must have sensed that, because he had enough brains to retreat.

Ron knew his mouth was hanging open to his chest, but he couldn't be bothered to close it. What had gotten into her? Hadn't she said she would never physically attack someone? That it was against her oh-so-morally-upright code of ethics? Maybe that wasn't Hermione at all; maybe she had been Polyjuiced. He hoped not, because that had been bloody amazing! It had been scary in a way, but it also had his insides churning in a manner that had nothing to do with fear. There was something..._new_ about Hermione, but he couldn't put his finger on it. She had been all furious and fiery and...and..._something._

As he staggered back to the castle behind her, he tried to pinpoint what it was, but had no luck. All he knew was that it made him excited and uneasy at the same time, so it was probably good that this was a one-time thing. Harry looked stunned as well, and they shared confused shrugs. Whatever her deal was, they were both just glad that it hadn't been aimed at them. Ron promised himself he would never do anything to get her that riled up at him; Unlike Malfoy, he wouldn't be lucky enough to have someone there to hold her back, and he preferred not to find out first hand what kind of damage she was capable of inflicting.

_Hermione followed them, smiling in amusement. There had been a definite spike of attraction when she had hit Malfoy, and she remembered how much her younger self had enjoyed the attention. It was just another example proving that Ron had always been _looking_ at her, even if it took him awhile to actually _see_ her. It would have been nice if he had kept his promise to himself, but she figured she would see the reason for that during sixth year, a period she was not looking forward to viewing._

_The doorway into Hogwarts opened into Gryffindor tower, specifically the stairs leading to the boys' dorm. Ron was shuffling down, plaid dressing gown thrown over too short pajamas._

Ron had been sleeping off and on, his mind too busy to let him fully rest. A sandwich had sounded like a good idea (food of any kind generally sounded like a good idea), and he had decided to go down and see if there were any left from earlier. Hopefully someone had remembered to put a Freshening Charm on them, and wouldn't mind if he helped himself. He needed a good nosh to help him think over his day. It had been a weird day; a _really_ weird day. And it all centered around Hermione.

Now, the whole smacking Malfoy bit he could completely understand, and even found himself reliving the moment just to enjoy the sheer, beautiful joy of Malfoy's shitting-his-pants expression. That alone would have given him enough to think about, but she just kept topping herself. In all of the time he had known Hermione, she had never missed a lesson unless she was in the hospital wing, and even then, it was unwillingly. So when she never showed up for Charms, he had been amazed. If there really were seven wonders of the world, Hermione missing a lesson would be the eighth. The only thing that had kept him from being worried was the effect of the Cheering Charms, and even that only served to dim his concern. When it wore off at lunch and she still wasn't there, both he and Harry were nervous enough to go looking for her. Skipping Charms was bad enough, but the last thing she needed to do was miss a meal, even though that wasn't unheard of. But as peaky as she had been looking lately, he had been pushing food on her at every turn. Bloody hell, he was turning into Mum! He prayed the twins wouldn't find out, or they'd be forcing him into one of her dresses. _Again_.

When they had found her asleep in the Common Room, he could tell she was pushing herself too hard. It had been a relief when she had woken up her usual bossy self, and he was glad that she was distracted by her mistake enough to forget her depression over Buckbeak. He had thought the day was back on track when they had all met for Divination, but again, she had done something completely un-Hermionelike. Divination was a bunk lesson; that was one of the few school related matters he could agree with her on. And while he loathed sitting through Trelawney being all dramatically mysterious and upsetting Harry, he loved the fact that during this one lesson, he could get Hermione to join in when he and Harry got snarky. The three of them would sit at their table and mutter jokes and insults, and Hermione's wit was always sharp and cutting.

And things had gone normally for a while, and then without any warning, Hermione and Trelawney were tossing barbs back and forth, and he was wondering if he should take cover under the table. That might have been a good idea, but he was too fascinated by the unheard of sight of Hermione giving lip to a professor to move. Her hair had frizzed out and her eyes were snapping, and she was snarling as she shot to her feet. The movement nearly knocked him off of the ridiculous pouf he had been sitting on, but she didn't seem to notice. Ordinarily that would have been a shot to his fragile self esteem, but this was anything but ordinary. Not only was she disrespecting an authority figure, _but she was walking out on a lesson, and wouldn't be continuing Divination!_ That was...was...well, it was bloody brilliant! He had dreamed of doing something like that (mostly Potions) for years, but she was actually doing it! 'Course, that meant Divination would be even more boring, but it was worth it to see her send that crystal ball rolling, and marching to the trapdoor with a toss of her hair.

And speaking of that hair, it was at this moment spread over the table in the corner unless he was very much mistaken. He stepped closer, squinting in the light of the fire. Yeah, that was Hermione alright. Books were scattered and stacked precariously all around her, and it looked as if she hadn't meant to doze off there. A quill was still held loosely in her right hand, ink blotting the parchment underneath. Carefully he removed it, but the ink had already dried on the notes, so he merely set the quill aside, and put the lid on the ink bottle. He sighed. Even though they were back to being friends, he still hadn't gotten her to say what was going on. If she kept going at this pace, he was afraid he was going to have to go to McGonagall. It was the last thing he wanted to do, especially after the grief he had given her for doing the same thing, but she was cracking up. If she wouldn't let him and Harry help, what choice did he have? The thought made him squirm uncomfortably, keenly aware that this had probably been her exact same reasoning about the Firebolt. Maybe he would give it another day or two.

A soft snore drew his eyes downward, but her face was totally obscured by a large hank of hair. As she inhaled, some was sucked in, and she choked on it, before spitting it out. Deciding she was better off getting some rest, even if she would be sore in the morning, he reached down to move the hair away. The strands seemed to have a life of their own as they twined around his fingers, and he remembered a question he had last year. When she had screwed herself up with the Polyjuice, he had accidently ended up stroking her tail. The fur had been soft and fluffy, and he wondered if her hair had the same texture, or if it was a side affect of being part cat. Now, he discovered, it wasn't. Hermione's hair looked like it would feel wiry, frizzy as it always was, but while it was springy, it was also very soft. It felt strange between his fingers, different from his own straight hair. In the flickering firelight, he noticed that not only had he been wrong about that, but her hair wasn't the color he had always thought it was, either.

If asked, he would have told anyone without hesitation that Hermione's hair was brown. Not an exciting color, but as a ginger, one he sometimes envied. Tonight he saw that that wasn't quite true; it was brown, but it wasn't just one flat color. Lighter shades glinted in the light, while darker shades blended into the shadows. There was even the slightest hint of red about them, if you looked hard. Finding himself trying to count the different colors, he suddenly dropped the chunk of hair he had been holding, his nose wrinkling up as he backed away. What the fuck was he doing? If Fred and George had slipped him something, he was going to murder them. How else could he explain why he was standing here thinking of Hermione's hair of all things, when there were sandwiches waiting to be eaten? Mental. Completely mental.

Finding that someone had in fact left several roast beef sandwiches out with a note for anyone to help themselves, he began to happily munch away, pushing all follicular related thoughts to the back of his mind, where he stored anything he didn't want to question too closely. The snack was dealt with quickly, and he brushed the crumbs off of his chest as he licked his fingers. Thinking that now he would be able to get some sleep, he turned to head back upstairs, but hesitated when his sleeping friend gave a small groan. He paused. It was a little cold down here, even with the fire. Quickly, he jerked a striped blanket off the back of one of the sofas, and draped it across her shoulders, turning away as she snuggled into it.

"Soft. I'm getting soft," he muttered, climbing the stairs. At least no one had seen him. It was bad enough that he was practically hand feeding her, the last thing he needed was for his brothers to catch him tucking her in. With his luck, they'd probably be able to make up one of their annoying little songs with that kind of material.

_Practically skipping, Hermione climbed the stairs beside him. It might be a little silly, but she was touched by his attention to her hair, even if there was a layer of self disgust that he felt along with it. That part didn't really bother her, surprisingly. He didn't mean anything personal by it; he was still fighting his growing feelings, and was also afraid of being teased. But hair was slightly above breasts on the romantic scale, and she hadn't honestly expected anything like that for quite a while. This also gave her insight into a quirk he had. Ever since they had gotten together, whenever they were sitting next to each other (usually on the sofa of an evening), he would play with a small strand of her hair, twisting it back and forth softly between his fingers. He always had such a pleased look of concentration, but he would never tell her what he was thinking. After the first few times where he got flustered and embarrassed, moving his hand away, she stopped asking. It was a comforting, strangely intimate gesture that she enjoyed, and having some history to go with it would make it even more special to her now._

_She watched as Ron crawled under his covers, and when he started to fall asleep, she prepared herself for a new scene. It didn't come; instead, there was a hazy moment while he was asleep, and with a flush of embarrassment, she realized what kind of dream he was having. Even without being emotionally connected it would be obvious by the way his lower body was thrusting into the mattress, along with the familiar sound of his moans. Just as she was about to bury her face in the curtains it was over, and he lay still, his mind foggy and half asleep._

Ron rolled onto his back, grunting in disgust at the sticky sensation in his pants. Ugh. These dreams would be great, if it wasn't for the mess they left afterwards. Even with the special secret Cleaning Charm that had been passed down from Weasley brother to Weasley brother, it was a pain to clean up. The other annoying thing was that he never really remembered what they had been about once he woke up. Which wasn't fair, because they were obviously something he enjoyed. And judging by the evidence of his latest...explosion, he had enjoyed this one more than most.

He thought hard, trying to pull up any detail of his dream that might be lingering. There was nothing. Nothing but hair. Lots and lots of hair. And prominent...teeth. Teeth? _Teeth!_ Giving a yelp, he shot up into a sitting position. There was only one girl who fit that description, but it couldn't be! It mustn't, it shouldn't! Sweet buggering Merlin, he had just nearly humped a hole into his mattress over _Hermione Granger!_

No. Nononononononono. He couldn't say it enough, so he said it again. No. This was Hermione, bossy, know-it-all, nagging best friend Hermione. He rubbed his face, ignoring the drying stain on his pajamas. He had a bigger mess to worry about. Calm down, Ron. Breathe. Think about this logically; there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. It was impossible that he was attracted to her. They were friends, best friends, and that was all. It would be as ridiculous as being attracted to Harry, and he as sure as hell wasn't that. And even their friendship had just recovered from a heavy hit, so anything more than that was never going to happen. They were just too different. Besides, even if he wanted it, he wouldn't risk it. He had just experienced what it was like without her, and now that they were friends again, he didn't want to lose that. So why had she just starred in one of his wettest dreams to date? She was alright looking, he supposed, but nothing that should work him up like that. And he didn't even see much of her body, just a vague outline of her-that was it!

Relief washed over him, realizing what must have happened to him. Yesterday, when she had hugged him, he had gotten a good feel of her tits against him, the first ever non-family tits he had ever come in contact with. That was a perfectly normal thing to set any self respecting, randy fourteen year old bloke off, and randiness was the one area he felt he excelled at. Add the fact that he had been missing her, and had focussed on her all day yesterday, and it was really no surprise that she had found her way into his dreams. Besides, she was the girl he had the most contact with. Even Harry had probably had a dream or two about her. The thought left an oddly sour taste in his mouth, but he ignored it.

He would just forget this had ever happened. It was dumb and wrong and impossible, no matter how many sly looks and comments he got from Ginny and the twins. That in itself proved it; nothing they ever suggested had a chance of coming true for him, and this wasn't any different. Hermione was his best friend, and he planned on keeping it that way. As long as one or the other (or both) of them didn't fuck it up like they had this year. Friends. Really, really good friends. A friend he occasionally dreamed about in a sexual manner. But that would be a secret he took to his grave, and it wasn't likely to happen very often, anyway. Nope. Not often at all...

_Interesting. He was attracted to her specifically, as much as he tried to deny it to himself. And she had witnessed, and felt, many instances of affection for her, as well. For the most part, he was well on his way to being in love. In fact, if he was honest with himself, he could have understood that by now, but he just wasn't ready for that. Ron wasn't stupid, but his emotional development was just a little bit slower than normal, while hers had been just a bit faster. It had frustrated her terribly when she was younger, but that wasn't very fair. You couldn't choose when your emotions matured, any more than you could your body. That was another part of the problem. Ron's body had grown quickly, making him look slightly older than he was. Not a lot, but enough to subconsciously raise her expectations of his non-physical qualities. Ron was also very good at covering his softer feelings with a layer of gruffness and sarcasm, and she took it at face value more often than she should. Which was irritating, because she had known that about him, but usually forgot in the heat of the moment. Plus, Ron was stubborn. It was going to take a strong blast to get his attention, and she had a feeling she knew what, or who, that was._

_The mattress beneath her became lumpier, and she realized that she was no longer in the same bed, but was now in the hospital wing instead of the dorm. it was dark, and Ron was in pain, the potion having worn off between doses. It was on his bedside table, but he hadn't taken it yet. Hermione sat cross-legged at the foot, watching his chest rise and fall under the sheet, her own leg aching sympathetically._

Ron stared up at the ceiling, shifting uselessly to find a comfortable position for his leg. It was time for him to take the potion that had been left, but he wasn't ready to fall asleep quite yet. Everything had happened so fast this evening, and he was still trying to process all of it. Especially the half of it he had been unconscious. The whole thing with Buckbeak had made him sick. His dad had told him stories about some of the injustices committed in the name of the law since he was a little kid, but this was the first time he had ever seen it close at hand. Well, Hagrid being sent to Azkaban and Dumbledore being kicked out last year had been pretty bad, but that had been fixed, and no one had died. Buckbeak hadn't even done anything wrong; it was all that git Malfoy's fault. They had all tried so hard to find something to get him off, and Hermione had taken it especially hard. All thoughts of the hippogriff had fled his mind, however, when his lousy rat had decided to come back from the dead.

Aside from shock, his first reaction had been to be happy. Scabbers wasn't the most impressive animal, but he had been his, and had at least provided a bit of nonjudgmental company. He gave a shiver of disgust. When he thought of all the nights that the fake rat had curled up on the pillow next to him...to tell the truth, he felt kind of violated. As he had struggled to control his pet, his happiness had been dimmed by the thought of his fight with Hermione. It had all been for nothing. Weeks of stupid, pointless silence punctuated only by the random nasty insults, and her cat had been innocent after all. He wouldn't blame her for gloating, but she had been nice enough not to say anything about it.

But the surprise of his rat's return had been overshadowed by being dragged off by that ginormous black dog. He had genuinely thought it was going to kill him, and had very nearly pissed himself. And very nearly shat himself as well when the dog had bent and twisted out of shape, only to turn out to be Sirius Black. Those few minutes of being trapped alone in the Shack with the madman with death in his eyes had been the most terrifying of his life, and he had been relieved when Harry and Hermione had shown up. Until it clicked that there was nothing they could do, and were in as much danger as he was. He wasn't sure where he had gotten the guts to stand up to Sirius. It must have been the delirium from the pain of his broken leg. He had never broken a bone before, and he had been caught between howling in agony and passing out. But what else could he do? Even at three to one their odds were basically hopeless, but there was still a slim possibility of Harry pulling off one of his Boy Who Lived moves, or Hermione coming up with a plan to save their arses. The least he could do was buy them some time.

_From the end of the bed, Hermione glared. She had always considered this one of Ron's shining moments, showcasing his bravery and loyalty, and she hated how he belittled himself, as if he thought he was only good enough for cannon fodder._

Then had come the whole confusing mess with Scabbers that wasn't Scabbers, Lupin, Sirius, and Snape. Surprise, surprise, he had been the one to be knocked out and missed all of the good stuff. Waking up in the hospital wing, he had been dazed and confused, and Harry and Hermione had had to fill him in. Actually, Hermione had done most of the talking. Harry had looked drained, and he could tell that he was thinking about his parents again. He always got this same look on his face, and Ron never really knew what to say. Hermione was better at getting him to talk, while he took the route of distracting him from morbid thoughts. It looked like both he and Hermione's skills would have to be put to use tomorrow.

To do that effectively, he was going to have to get over the niggling jealousy that wouldn't leave him alone. Okay, so he knew he had been knocked out, and had a broken leg on top of that, but being left out still stung. He might not have been able to be much help, but he would've tried. The only bright side was that at least now, he knew how Hermione had been pulling off her lessons.

A rustling sound interrupted his thoughts, and he tensed up, even though the danger was supposedly over. A weight landed on the bed, and large, glowing eyes stared at him out of the darkness. He glared at the beast for a moment, then plopped his head back on his pillow.

"So, you've finally come to kill me. Can't say as I blame you. I accused you of raticide, attacked you a few times, and made your owner miserable. So go ahead, use those cleavers you call claws to slash my throat open. Just try to do it in one go; I'd hate to linger."

Crookshanks stalked up the bed, paused, and then leapt gracefully onto the middle of Ron's chest, raising one paw. Ron shut his eyes, waiting for the strike. A moment later, a paw patted his forehead softly, as the cat began to purr. Slowly, carefully, Ron reached out his hand to stroke him. When his flesh wasn't sliced from his bones, he took that as a good sign. This was the first time he'd really had a moment with Crookshanks when he wasn't trying to skin him alive, and he grudgingly admitted that he seemed to be a decent enough animal. A bit like one of Hagrid's rock cakes in a fur suit, but not the murderous little sod that he had originally thought.

Footsteps approached from behind the screen by his bed, and Hermione's head popped around the corner. "Crookshanks, there you are!" she hissed.

Quietly, she moved to the bed, scooping the cat up with a grunt. "Sorry, Ron. He got loose. I'll get him out of your way."

"He's fine. Now that I don't have the scent of rat on me, he's not so keen to eat my face off. Is Harry asleep?"

He moved his good leg over as she sat down on the edge of the bed. "I think so. There was a sound that may have been snoring coming from his bed, but I didn't stop to look. Speaking of being asleep, why aren't you? Is your leg hurting again?"

" A little, but I have a potion for that. But it knocks me out, and I wanted to think for a while. A lot happened today, didn't it? Of course, I was out of it for the exciting bit, but it sounds like you didn't really need me, anyway."

"That's not true! You know we would've taken you with us if we had been able to! But not only were you unconscious, but you had a broken leg, so it's not like we had a choice. Besides, at least one of us was safe. I nearly had a heart attack when Sirius dragged you off, earlier. You could've been killed!"

Damn. it was hard to stay offended when she put it like that. She had obviously been worried, and that perked him up. Until he remembered something else, and a new wave of anger overtook him.

"Could've been killed? Oh, that's rich, coming from someone who's been running around with a _Time-Turner_ all year! Don't you know that St. Mungo's has a whole ward just for people who've messed with those things? That is, when they can find enough of them to scrape up off the ground. What the hell were you thinking? No, please. Don't tell me you did this just to keep up with your insane schedule?"

"Well, yes, but it isn't like I didn't have permission. Professor McGonagall was supervising me, so it wasn't all that big of a deal. I only used it for things like my lessons, not anything dangerous," she spoke defensively, her chin thrust out.

"Not dangerous? _Not dangerous?_ Listen to yourself! You're always on top of me and Harry, and then you go and pull something like this. They're against the law for a reason! You know, I considered that you were using one for about two seconds when I noticed how strange you were acting, but I couldn't believe it. And then you didn't even tell us! I had to find out after you had gone off with Harry, didn't even see the thing 'til you got back!"

Hermione looked abashed. "I'm sorry. It's not like I planned it that way though."

"Yeah, but how do you think I felt? I was the one who knew something was up with you, I was the one who always asked, but Harry gets to find out first," a sick thought hit him. "Wait, did he know the whole time? I mean, I know we had that fight, and Harry's probably always been the nicer one out of the two of us, but-"

"No! Ron, I wasn't allowed to tell anyone! Harry didn't know until last night, and that was only because it was Dumbledore's idea. It was hard, you know? I was able to handle it at first, but then it started to become too much, and I didn't have anyone I could talk to about it. I wanted to tell you, though," she let Crookshanks jump to the floor, and massaged her temples with her fingers.

While happy to hear that he hadn't been completely left out, he was still skeptical. "Sure. You don't have to spare my feelings, Hermione. We both know I'm probably the last person you'd tell. Harry would be a better choice, anyway," he tried not to sound like he was pouting, but was aware he was doing a poor job of it.

Hermione let out a long, gusty sigh. "That's not true. You know I tell you pretty much anything, at least when we aren't fighting like cats and dogs. And you've grown up with magic, so you would be the one to understand what I was talking about. Besides," she paused, looking nervous, "Harry was the last person I could have told about the Time-Turner."

He didn't quite get what she was trying to say. "What do you mean? Harry isn't thick; you wouldn't have to explain too much."

She bit her lip, twisting a thread dangling from the blanket around her finger. "Ron, do you remember when the two of you stayed here for Christmas during first year? When he found that mirror?"

Of course he remembered. Sometimes, he still dreamed about the things he had seen in it himself. Not that they ever had a chance of happening, but it was nice to think about every once and awhile. Although he hadn't been as obsessed as Harry. It was alright to look a few times, but staring at something that you wanted when you knew it was impossible got depressing pretty quick.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You told me yourself how obsessed he was about it. Going back night after night, just for a look at his parents...knowing that, how could I tell him that I had a Time-Turner?" she asked softly.

Now, he knew that he didn't always pick up on things like other people's feelings and emotions as fast as other people did, but right away he could see that an orphan that had never met his parents, plus a Time-Turner, was a really, really bad idea. If Harry had gotten it into his head to try to see them, or, even worse, save them, he didn't like to think about what could have happened. It would've taken both Hermione and him to keep him from doing something stupid, and if he had tried while the two of them hadn't been speaking...

"Oh. Okay, I can see what a fuck up that could be. But you still could've told me. I know I'm not as brilliant as you, and I've done some pretty dumb stuff lately, but I'm not stupid enough to go messing around with something as dangerous as that," he winced, a sharp pain shooting up his leg.

Hermione noticed, handing him the potion from the bedside table. He swallowed it down, gagging. She traded the empty potion for a glass of water, which he drank gratefully. Already, his head was starting to swim, but he was determined to hang on a little longer.

"You're not stupid, and I know you wouldn't have. Sneaking Harry out of the castle is on a whole different level than fooling around with time, and I know you've heard enough about things like that from your dad not to try it. But it would've been hard for you to keep it from Harry, and if you had seen him tonight...Ron, he really thought his dad was there, and he was so disappointed that he wasn't. Even if I hadn't promised not to tell you, and was willing to put you in that position with him, I couldn't risk the possibility that he might find out. But I promise, I won't hide anything like that from you again, alright?"

His eyes were heavy, and he had to blink them a few times to bring her into focus. "Good. Because I was really starting to worry that you were ill or somethin'."

Hermione stood up, patting him on the shoulder. "I think I was getting pretty close, to be honest. I'm going to go back to my own bed and let you get some sleep, since you look like you're halfway there already."

Clumsily, he reached out and grabbed her wrist as she started to walk away, his mind too clouded to fully register the tiny jump she gave. "Hey. Get rid of that thing, alright? You can't go on like this for the next four years; you'll go barking. And I know sooner or later, I'd end up at the other end of your fist like Malfoy, and I'd rather not."

She giggled. "Ron, don't be ridiculous. I'd never attack you like that!"

He gave a sleepy grin. "Not gonna risk it. Promise you'll do it?"

"I had already decided to give it back tomorrow. I don't really like the effect it was having on me, and now that Harry knows about it, I'd always be worried that he would want to use it."

Still smiling, he let his eyes fall closed. "So, no Time-Turner, no murderer on the loose, and no secrets that I have to try to figure out. Things look smoother already."

Her footsteps moved around the edge of the screen, and then back again. "Ron? Are you still awake?"

Weren't they done? His pillow was so soft, and he had gotten comfortable..."Mhmm."

"There's something I should tell you...I mean, I just wanted to say that I...well, you know..."

He groaned. Why did girls have to be so chatty? "Hermione, you're takin' the long way around that bush. Just spit it out."

"...It's nothing that can't wait. I'll tell you later. Goodnight, Ron."

"Night, Hermione."

What had she wanted? She sounded kinda funny. Well, if it was important, she'd tell him. After all, she had just got done telling him that she wouldn't hide stuff anymore. Which would be nice, since that meant he wouldn't have to stumble around trying to figure out what she was thinking, an impossible task for anyone. And since Hermione didn't break promises, he knew he could count on her to let her know when something was going on with her...

Content that things were settled, he let the potion do its work, his last thought being that it was time to have her over to the Burrow...and Harry. Of course.

_Sifting through his mind, Hermione saw that they had gotten their signals crossed. She had promised to tell him about general things like the Time-Turner, but Ron had taken it wrong. He was a very literal, straight forward person, and he had gotten the impression that she would tell him anything that was important. To him, if she didn't come right out and say it, then it wasn't an issue for her. She could see already that one of the reasons he never told her how he felt was because of this. He believed that if she felt that way, then she would tell him. Since she didn't, then she must not think of him like that. Which was ridiculous; for one thing, he didn't want to hear about every little feeling she had, and she had no inclination to be that open in any case. For another thing, even if she was, that wasn't the sort of thing you just came out with._

_That was the downside to being best friends with the person you were in love with; you think that you know them so well that you would be able to spot that they were in love with you. When you don't see the signs, you just assume you've lost out, and never consider that the other might be going through the same thing. They shared so much with each other, and it was easy to forget that a romantic confession wouldn't be as easy, that they would have to go through the awkwardness just like everyone else._

_She had been so happy that night, when he had been worried about her keeping the Time-Turner. She had still been rather high on adrenaline and the discovery of her own feelings, and had nearly blurted them out. But he had sounded drugged and grumbly, so she had put it off. Which was good, because as much as he cared for her, and as much as he...well, lusted, he wasn't ready for any type of commitment. He was still denying it to himself, trying to keep everything the same, as children growing up often do. It wasn't exactly a bad thing, and she knew that he hadn't meant for it to hurt her, as it would this coming year. But things couldn't stay the same forever, and even Ron would be forced to admit it, and begin to change himself. And like all changes, this one had a catalyst. She closed her eyes, and released a weary breath._

_"Viktor."_


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Here we are in fourth year! Those of you who thought that I wrote this fic to cover fourth and sixth year, give yourselves half a cookie, because you are partially right. Some people apologize for covering these events so much; I do not. These are significant times in both characters' lives, and they deserve screentime. Please remember that these are two teenagers going through all this for the first time, and their thoughts and emotions will be portrayed accordingly. Yes, sometimes they will overreact and think/say stupid, dramatic things. But didn't we all? Think back to your first love. Go on, do it. Done cringing? Me too. So as you read, cut them some slack, and just be thankful that that time of your life is behind you.**

**The Yule Ball doesn't occur until the next chapter. But it will be the main event, and there is going to be a third bonus chapter to go along with it (No, not Ball coverage. Two chapters of that is sufficient.) I had planned to post this on the 24th to celebrate Rupert Grint's birthday, but I think several of you would have reached through the internet to smack me, so here it is early.**

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RUPERT! YOU BEAUTIFUL BOY, YOU SEXY, SEXY MAN!**

Hermione paced around her room, looking for anything she might have forgotten to pack. Which was unlikely, as she had been packed for a week. But it was something to focus on other than her jumbled nerves, so for once she ignored logic. She had been looking forward to this for months, and nine o'clock couldn't come fast enough. Finally, finally, she was getting to go to the Burrow! When she had gotten the letter from Ron inviting her, she had let out a scream that would have been utterly embarrassing, had she not been home alone at the time. As it was, she had nearly frightened poor Pig, snatching him off the windowsill and dancing around with him in a circle. Harry had told her so much of his times there, and she had always been just the tiniest bit jealous.

Ron, on the other hand, had downplayed his home in his most recent letters, making it sound as if he lived in a pile of sticks and leaves in the middle of nowhere. He had been so discouraging that she had almost thought that he had regretted asking her. But Ron had always been funny about things like that, so she had decided to ignore it. And now the World Cup took up most of his attention, so he may not even notice that she was there at all.

_Ron snorted. Hardly. He had been out of his mind with excitement over the game, true, but even that wasn't enough to make him forget that Hermione was making her first visit. Having his two best friends over, and going with them to the most anticipated match of the year, had made him feel like it was going to be the best summer ever. And as a matter of fact, the game was the only thing keeping him from being completely sick with nerves. Between being worried that his home wouldn't meet her standards, to thinking of all the ways his siblings could possibly embarrass him, he had been a bit of a mess._

"Hermione, come downstairs! Ron and his father are here to pick you up!" her mother called from the foot of the stairs.

Hermione darted to the door, pausing only to pause at the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, eyeing herself critically, wondering if she had time to fight it into submission. "Forget it. You don't have minutes, much less the years it would actually take," she muttered to herself.

Quickly, she descended the steps and entered the living room, where Mr. Weasley was having an animated conversation about egg beaters with her father, while Ron smiled nervously at her mother, who was asking him about his summer. Seeing her come into view, he looked at her with an expression of relief.

"Hey, Hermione! Ready to go?"

She smiled brightly, trying not to blush. It wasn't always easy to hide her feelings for him, but it was worse after she hadn't seen him in a while. After a day or two it would be better, but right now she had to watch herself. "Yes, I just need to get my trunk."

"I got it. Mum will skin me alive if she sees that I let you carry it yourself," he went over to where she had placed her trunk the night before, and heaved it up.

The muscles of his forearms flexed, and she caught herself staring. While Ron didn't possess the physique of a bodybuilder, having to do chores without magic around his house had toned him a bit, giving some definition to his lean frame. She was distracted when her parents came over to hug her goodbye, her father telling her to have a good time. "But not too good," her mother whispered into her ear, then pulling away with a twinkle in her eye that told Hermione that her admiration hadn't gone unnoticed.

_Ron checked out his younger form, but he couldn't see the appeal. Tall and gawky, with overly large hands and feet, nothing to make anyone hot and bothered. But if Hermione found his looks pleasing, who was he to argue? He made a mental note to do some lifting around the house. Training had given him a better (though still thin and not overly developed) body, and he was curious to see what kind of reaction he could get._

Eager to get out from under her mother's knowing gaze, she followed Ron and Mr. Weasley, who had already gone through with her trunk. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, she said clearly, "The Burrow!" and with a flash of green, she was pulled into the Floo network.

A few minutes later, she landed with a thump, staggering out of a strange fireplace. She blinked the smoke out of her eyes, looking around curiously. The first thing that hit her was not the sight, but the smell. There was, along with the fading scent of breakfast, an aroma of baking that Hermione suspected was a permanent feature. No wonder Ron was always hungry, if his mother's cooking smelled like this! It gave a warm, comfortable feeling to the house, and she found that Harry had been right when he had said that you became instantly at ease there.

The room she was in was large and curved, attesting to the fact that the original part of the dwelling had been circular. The furniture was done in autumn colors, browns and reds and oranges, that, while worn and somewhat faded, were still clean and presentable. There was an old wicker basket filled with balls of yarn, while a pair of knitting needles hovered over it, clicking along rapidly. There were photos covering the walls, an entire flock of gingers, both familiar and unknown. In one, a small Ron was clutching a broom, his wide grin showing off the fact that both front teeth were missing.

"Hermione, you're here! It's good to see that Ron didn't lose you!"

Hermione turned at the sound of Ginny's voice, and was immediately hugged by the younger girl, while Ron rolled his eyes behind her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gin. It's not like I make a habit of losing people, and anyway, Hermione's smart enough to get here by herself."

Ginny shrugged, putting a hand on one hip. "You lost Harry when we went to Diagon Alley that one time."

Ron flushed, but before he could retort, Mrs. Weasley hurried into the room. "I thought I heard you arrive, Hermione! Welcome to the Burrow! You'll be sharing Ginny's room while you're here. Ron, take Hermione's trunk up, and then show her around. Just stay away from your father's shed; he's been messing about with a new addition to his Muggle collection, and is likely to blow something up. I swear, between that man and the twins, it's a wonder this house hasn't fallen around our ears!"

Hermione made polite responses, as Ron, grumbling, bent down to lift her trunk from where he had set it. The denim stretched tightly over his bum, and she couldn't stop staring. Dear Merlin, they needed to get to Hogwarts quickly, where school robes kept such distractions to a minimum. Although, she really should enjoy the opportunity while it presented itself...

"...and of course, I know from Ron how much you love a good rump."

Hermione startled guiltily, stunned that she had let herself get caught, and mortified that Ron was going to find out what a perv she was. "What?" she asked weakly, trying to buy time, feeling sick at the smug grin Ginny was giving her.

"I was saying, Ron has told me that roast is one of your favorites, and we're having some for dinner tonight. Are you alright, dear? You look a tad pale."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, just dizzy from the Floo. Ginny, why don't you show me where your room is?" she asked pointedly, before Ginny could comment.

Ginny led her to the stairs, which Ron was already climbing. She gestured for Hermione to go ahead of her, whispering, "I think you'll enjoy the view much better than I would."

"Shut up, Ginny!" she hissed.

"What are you two whispering about?" Ron grunted from the weight of her trunk.

"Nothing, Hermione's just excited about getting some of that famous Weasley rump." Ginny answered slyly.

"You'll love it, Hermione! It's so firm, but still really tender and juicy," Ron enthused.

"Yes, Hermione can't wait to sink her teeth into it, can you, Hermione?"

"I'm sure I'll love your mother's cooking," she said stiffly, wondering if she could get away with pushing Ginny out of one of the windows. Not a high one. Just enough to give her something else to talk about.

"Hmm. I imagine you'd love anything made by Mum."

Hermione growled. "Not everything, I assure you."

_Ron leaned into the railing behind them, breathless with laughter. "Hermione, you sly thing! Never imagined you to be an arse woman!" Forget flexing his arms; he would be dropping things a lot more often instead._

They went up several flights of steps, before Ron kicked a door open and entered, dropping her trunk heavily against a wall. "Here you go. There's not enough room for another bed, but Ginny's is pretty big. Hope you don't mind sharing too much."

"Alright, Ron. You trot upstairs while Hermione unpacks, alright? I'll send her up when she's done."

Not wanting to be cornered, Hermione protested. "Thanks, but I'll unpack later. Ron was supposed to show me around, and I want to see if his walls are as blindingly orange as I've been led to believe."

Ron, who had begun to look a bit put out at being sent off, perked up, and headed for the door, with her right behind him. They went up another flight of stairs, a narrow hall leading to a door with his name on it. Opening it, Hermione discovered that no one had been exaggerating about the walls. How did he sleep in here? How did he do anything? The walls were loud enough, but the posters of Quidditch players swooping around just made it worse. She supposed that it was typical of a boy's room, though, and didn't have the heart to say too much. He already looked like a puppy waiting to be kicked, so she kept her comments to a minimum, at least until he started to show her other parts of the house and outside.

The garden was large, and Hermione, who had grown up in town, enjoyed the spacious feel of all the land around the house. There were fields to one side, and a short ways away, woods to another. closer to the house were several outbuildings, including a chicken coop and a small barn, where two cows were kept. Ron explained that Mrs. Weasley made her own butter and cream, and every once and awhile they raised a calf for the meat.

She had assumed that there would be a horrid smell, having all of those animals, but that wasn't the case. Under Mrs. Weasley's rule, everything was kept clean, the stalls shovelled out on a regular basis, and fresh hay laid. Of course, there were also Charms involved with this, as there was with the growing of the hay, which helped run things more smoothly than would be managed by Muggle means alone.

They ended the tour at the large pond, sitting on the dock and dangling their feet into the water.

"Well, it's not much, but it's home. What did you think?" he asked, staring out at the water, not looking her in the eyes.

She thought a moment. What did she think? It was a wonderful place! Everything had a bright, cheerful feel to it, and she had felt welcome straight away. As a child that had often been shut out of things outside of her parents, that was saying a lot. There was magic running through the place, and she found the quirky architecture to be charming. The sun cast a warm light on everything around them, and the air smelled strongly of fresh mown grass, water from the pond, and faintly of animals.

"I think the place is very you, Ron," she finally settled on, unsure exactly what to say without making it sound like she was ready to move in herself.

His jaw tightened. "What does that mean, exactly?"

She waved her hands around at everything, trying to explain. "It's just, very Weasley, you know? It's the kind of place I always imagined your family would live."

Ron's shoulders slumped, and he gave a sickly half smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Look, I have to go make sure the chickens have enough water. You go ahead and go on in, alright?" without waiting for an answer, he stood and strode off, leaving her to walk up the path back to the house.

Ginny was on the front steps, shelling a bucket of peas. Seeing Hermione's perplexed look, she scanned around for Ron.

"He went to check the chickens," Hermione said to her unasked question. What had gotten into Ron? The day had been going so well, and she had enjoyed the time alone with him.

His sister raised her eyebrows. "Without being asked? That's a first. Anyway, now that you've seen the place, what did you think?"

Hermione sat down on the stair next to her, taking a handfull of peas. "I love it! It's very Weasley."

Ginny paused in mid-motion. "And is that a good thing?" she asked carefully.

"Of course it is! For the last few years, Harry has told me how amazing this place is, that it's just like all of you. He was right, so what's so bad about saying so?"

Ginny looked quite pleased at the mention of Harry, and fumbled with her peas, something that Hermione didn't miss. She knew that the other girl had a paralyzing crush on her other best friend, and decided that they should have a talk later.

"Well, thanks, but if that's what you said to Ron, he probably didn't take it that way." At Hermione's confused look, she hurried to continue. "Look, we're poor. That's no big secret, but people can be nasty about it, and Ron's...sensitive about it. And I know he loves us, when he's not being a prat, but it isn't easy for him. He's the youngest of six brothers, and has a little sister. Sometimes, that means he gets lost in the shuffle, even though it's not on purpose. So 'Weasley' probably isn't that great of an adjective in his opinion."

Hermione plucked dejectedly at the hulls, her earlier happiness somewhat dulled. Why had she put it like that to him? Why didn't she just come out and say that it was a wonderful place, and that she loved everything about it? Because that was what she had meant. That was how she felt about his family, even if the four youngest made her want to throttle them sometimes. For her, 'Weasley' was synonymous with happiness and fun. And, of course, him. She knew her attraction to him played no small part in that, and she had probably just screwed things up. They had been doing so well, laughing and talking. How was she ever going to get him to see her as something more than a friend if she didn't stop stepping off into it with her big mouth? She needed to learn to shut up more; she was rubbish at compliments, and just ended up making him upset when she tried. With a sigh, she hoped things would be better by the time Harry arrived in the morning.

_Ron felt bad. Ginny was right. He had taken her wrong. When most people mentioned Weasleys, they weren't being complementary, and he had gotten used to that. Of course, she never would have meant anything like that, but he had been young and stupid and nervous, and her opinion had begun to matter to him terribly._

_The sun flashed brightly, and when his vision cleared, they were back by the pond again, only this time Hermione was alone with Harry, Hermione leaning back on her hands, while Harry stretched out on his stomach, splashing one hand in the water. Ron looked around for himself, and was momentarily confused, until a thought from Hermione reminded him that he had gone inside to bring out a snack for the three of them. Well, mostly for him, but he would share._

Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth from the last rays of the setting sun. She was still full from dinner, and had no idea where the boys were going to put the snack that Ron left to get, but she had no doubt that it would be polished off quickly. They would be leaving for Hogwarts in three days, and had been squeezing in as much relaxation time as possible, with Ginny joining them as much as her awkwardness around Harry would allow. Tonight, she had gone in early, saying that she needed to pack. Hermione sighed drowsily. This last week and a half had been wonderful, marred only by the nastiness at the World Cup. There had been no further news, which was worrisome, but she suspected something would come of it while they were at school. After all, didn't it always?

"So."

She opened her eyes at Harry's voice, and answered amiably, "So."

"I haven't gotten much chance to talk to you alone, so while Ron's inside, tell me what you think. Quick!"

"Think? About what?" she asked, puzzled.

"About the Burrow! Isn't it as great as I told you it would be?"

Twisting around, she lay on her stomach beside him, eyes alight. "It's amazing! First of all, the building alone! I mean, how does it stand up? It has to be magic. It's so tall and crooked, and even has a ghoul living in the attic, like something out of the stories I read when I was little."

"Yeah, even though I haven't really seen it. Heard it, and certainly smelled it though. But speaking of fairy stories, what about the gnomes? Not like out of the Disney films, are they?"

"No, but just the fact that they're real, living magical creatures is enough for me. I've known about magic for years now, but I still get excited when I see something new. I suppose you think that's silly."

Harry looked over his shoulder in the direction of the house, as if to make sure they were alone. "Tell anyone this and I'll deny it, but the first time I saw a unicorn, I nearly screamed like a six year old girl getting a pink pony for her birthday. And that was even with everything that was going on at the time!"

Hermione laughed. "But seriously, this is a marvelous place. It's so alive, not anything like what I'm used to at home. I really love it here, and I hope I get to come back again."

He grinned. "I'm sure Ron loved to hear that. He couldn't believe I liked the place so well, so maybe he'll believe you."

Her smile trembled, before leaving her entirely. She swirled her fingers in the water, not looking at him. "Not likely. Once again, I think I've managed to offend him. Honestly, Harry, I think I'm only qualified for nagging, because anything else I say always comes out wrong."

"It couldn't have been too bad. You two haven't had a fight since I got here, and I haven't noticed him acting any differently."

"When he asked me what I thought of the Burrow, I told him I thought it was very Weasley," she confessed.

Harry gave a small wince. "Ah. Yeah, that may not have been the best thing to say to Ron."

"But you know what I meant!" she wailed, splashing him as she waved her hands for emphasis.

He rolled out of the way of the droplets. "Hey, no need to tell me! I'm on team Weasley too, official jumper and everything! But Ron...well, lots of people use his name as a kind of insult. On the other hand, whenever you try to point out how great his family is, he takes it to mean the rest of them, and leaves himself out. You never really know which way he's going to take it, and I gave up trying to understand ages ago."

_Ron couldn't blame him. It had always confused him, as well. He loved his family, that had never been in doubt. But he had no desire to grow up to be dirt poor and treated as a joke. On the flip side of the knut, His siblings were always doing something or other that was amazing. Bill was cool and dashing as a Curse Breaker, Charlie...well, you only had to say the word 'dragons' to see how great that was. Percy was brilliant, even if he ruined the effect by being an obnoxious prat. The twins created fabulous things, from fireworks to trick sweets, and had even made a thriving business off of it. Ginny was as popular as the rest of them, and a top notch Quidditch player. Beside them, Ron felt pathetically average at the best of times._

Hermione frowned down at the ripples in the pond. She couldn't let it pass as easily as Harry seemed to be able to. She wanted to understand Ron better than she did. Not in a creepy, stalkerish way, but enough so that she could quit inadvertently hitting his sore points. She had thought about talking to him about it, but since Harry thought he was alright, maybe she should let it pass without drawing any more attention. And in a few days, they would be back in their normal routine; she would nag, they would complain and goof off, panic when the deadline drew near, and beg her to help. She would chastise them and grumble, but would end up helping anyway. Then the cycle would begin again, as certain as the rising and setting of the sun.

"Besides, he's too busy trying to figure out what the big surprise is that everyone keeps mentioning. What do you think it's going to be?"

She allowed herself to be distracted by the change in subject. "I don't know. As long as it isn't anything dangerous, I don't really care that much, either."

Rolling his eyes, Harry seemed to find her response typical. "Well, it doesn't have anything to do with me, so maybe we can just enjoy this year for once, yeah?"

"Yeah right. I think you just jinxed any chance of that happening," came Ron's muffled voice from behind them.

Harry and Hermione sat up abruptly, laughing at the image he presented. He was balancing a pie, several plates, two packets of biscuits, and several forks sticking out of his front pocket, topped off by a bag of crisps dangling from his teeth. Judging by the crumbs around his mouth, Hermione suspected he had been helping himself before he joined them, and she gave a look of mock disapproval. He smiled, shrugging sheepishly. She found the expression adorable, and realized she would probably let him get away with far too much if he ever knew how much it affected her. But as he sat down next to her, she had to admit that it was a feeling she enjoyed, as well. She loved the bubbly feeling she got whenever they were close, and had found herself seeking it out more and more. This year was going to be good, she could sense it. She didn't know how yet, but she was going to do something to make her dreams of a relationship a reality. All she needed was one really good opportunity; something conducive to romance. She doubted that it was anywhere on the syllabus, so she would just have to keep an eye out. Right now, though, she would just enjoy the feel of his arm brushing up against hers, the skin tingling at the contact.

_While gratified at her interest, Ron knew that it would only make things harder on her. When Hermione made up her mind about something, she put her whole heart into it, building up her expectations and working to meet her goal. Which was a great trait for things like school, and later on her job, but it didn't work so well when other people were involved. It was the same way she was with the house-elves; she got so passionate about it, she couldn't see why anyone else wouldn't jump on it as well. And then, when things didn't go according to her plans, she got terribly, terribly hurt. And here she was now, getting her hopes up over him, and he was just a fourteen year old boy who hadn't even worked out his own feelings yet, much less what to do about them._

_The water of the pond stretched and elongated, growing from the Weasley's pond into the lake by the school. Hermione was walking towards it and Harry, away from where she had just been speaking with Ron._

Hermione wrapped her robes more tightly about her, fighting off the chill in the air. She had just left Ron on a small balcony on one of the towers (which, oddly enough, could only be accessed on Thursdays), and had decided to see if she could talk some sense into Harry. It was hard being caught in the middle and going back and forth, on top of lessons and figuring out what to do about the elves, and this time she didn't even have a Time-Turner to help.

Harry had struck up his usual Byronic attitude by a tree, staring moodily out at the waving tentacles of the Giant Squid. She had her work cut out for her, and was holding out no great hope that the boys would fall weeping into each others arms by sunset. Her suspicions were confirmed when he barely looked up at her when she dropped down beside him, nudging him over so she could share the tree.

"So, what did you come all the way out here for? You're not usually the type to hang about lying cheaters," he half snarled.

Hermione bit back a sharp retort, merely raising an eyebrow. She had just been through a similar experience with Ron, and understood that both were snapping at her as a stand-in for each other, and didn't intend to hurt her feelings. Which is what she told herself when the urge to smack them became hard to resist.

Running a hand through his fringe, Harry sighed, looking rather shamefaced. "Sorry, Hermione. It's just that everything's so fucked up right now, and the whole mess with Ron..."

"Yes, Harry? Do tell me what it's like to have a major falling out with Ron," she said dryly, thinking back on last year.

Harry gave a short bark of a laugh, the first she'd heard from him in a long time. "I guess that was a pretty stupid thing to say to you, of all people. How do you stand it? He makes you so mad, you just...just..."

"Want to kill him in a variety of inventive ways, but aren't sure what to do with the body? I understand. What makes it worse is at the same time, you miss him terribly and want nothing more than for the whole business to be over and done with."

Her words scored a direct hit, and Harry flushed, scowling. "I don't miss that stupid git in the least."

"Oh, yes you do. Because no matter how mad he makes you, in the end Ron is Ron, and without him nothing feels quite right."

The angry tension seemed to leave his body, and his shoulders slumped. "We've never really had a fight like this before. Hermione, how can he believe I'd put my name into the Goblet? Or that if I did, I wouldn't have done the same for him?"

Hermione gave an impatient huff. "Disregarding the sheer stupidity of even thinking of entering your names, you have to know that he doesn't really believe that."

Harry snorted. "Well, then he's doing a damn fine job of acting like it, isn't he?"

"I told you before, you're always the one getting attention! You know how hard that is for Ron. His brothers make some sort of name for themselves first, and then he gets a famous best friend. He knows you haven't done anything wrong, but right now, he needs to stay mad at you."

Harry looked at her as if she had announced she was going to join the Quidditch team. "And you came up with that bit of logic how?"

Hermione tried to explain it as best as she could. "Because it's easier to be mad at you over cheating than it is to admit he's jealous. He knows it's stupid and wrong, but if you had actually done it, then his feelings would be justifiable. Give him some time, and he'll come around. You're his friend, Harry. He maybe be stubborn and short-tempered, but he'll come through in the end."

"Maybe. Just don't expect me to make the first move. He's been a complete arse, and I won't have anything to do with him until he says he was wrong."

"Big surprise there. I just wish the two of you would hurry up. This isn't easy for me either, you know."

Harry shot her a curious look. "What do you mean?"

When she answered, her voice was soft and weary. "Because you're both my friends, and I hate seeing you like this. And you know I enjoy spending time with each one of you, but not this way; not with you both mad, and things feeling like they're broken. I want the three of us to be together, even if we aren't with each other."

He gave her a weak smile. "Just remember that the next time you two get into it. It isn't easy being in my position, is it?"

She smiled back. "Hopefully, Ron and I won't have as big a fight as we did last year ever again. I'm sure we've worked out the worst of things between us."

Startled, she looked down to where Harry had fallen to his side, laughing. "Oh, That's rich! That's about as likely as one of Trelawney's predictions!"

_Ron watched as she began punching Harry in the arm, even as she tried not to laugh herself. It was amazing how she could have so much insight into some aspects of his character, and be completely at sea over others. Then again, the same could be said about him concerning her; he supposed it was impossible to know absolutely everything about another person, especially at that age. At fourteen and fifteen, while their characters were fairly set, they were still growing and finding their way as people. Shifts and adjustments in mental attitudes and ideals were made, while teachings and beliefs were challenged and reevaluated. And when it came to love, well...that had confused men and women throughout the ages. But Hermione was trying, which was more than he could say of himself at the time. Concerns over motheaten dress robes, Harry and his problems, and his own insecurity (and of course, the mysterious creature known as the female), were higher up on his lists of things to worry about than matters as frightening and life-altering as love._

_But love was a very important issue to Hermione right now. And, as the walls of Hogwarts solidified around him, it was causing her a great deal of pain._

Hermione strode down the hall, heedless of the other students scurrying out of her way, fearful of being clipped by her lethally weighed down bookbag. She was furious to the point of tears, but she held them from falling. Unsurprisingly, the source of her inner turmoil was the same as ever; Ron. Why had she fallen for such a-an insensitive, shallow, unfeeling pig? She should have seen this coming when The other schools had arrived, honestly, the way he had practically filled the Great Hall with drool over that snippy, stuck up Veela was enough to make anyone sick. She had kept her meal down, but she knew her eyes had gone greener than Harry's. And another day, he had offered her food! Ron, the boy who growled like a bulldog if you leaned too close to his plate! All for a pretty face and swishy...skirt. She had been prepared for him to be obsessed with Krum, seeing as how he had idolized him at the World Cup, but with his attention being divided between the two of them and Harry, she was feeling decidedly left out. He didn't even have the decency to pretend to be interested in S.P.E.W., and was constantly belittling her efforts.

Yet it wasn't until last night that the final blow came, she thought darkly as she slammed into the library, dropping her bag on a corner table, bending low so her hair shielded her face. How could he say those things, and say them so easily? Did looks really count for more than substance in his books? The discovery hurt, perhaps more than it should have. Alright, she knew she wasn't...well, she wasn't very attractive. In fact, she considered herself to be downright plain, though not nearly as bad now that her teeth were fixed (not that he had even noticed that). But she had hoped...she gave a short, bitter laugh. How foolish of her. Of course Ron, who had always had to make do with the unwanted or second hand, would want a girl as close to the idea of female perfection as he could get. And that wasn't her, no, not even close. Hadn't he as good as said as much?

_The thought rocked Ron back on his heels. That had never been what he was thinking! Yeah, he had wanted a pretty girl, and it was for the ego boost it would give him, but it had never been a matter of her not living up to what he had wanted. He had been suppressing any feelings he might have had for her, and instinctively knew that if he even considered her, he would be lost, and any illusion that friendship was the most he wanted would be shattered. He had been struggling with his own self confidence, and had no idea that in doing so, he was shredding hers, which was in short supply already._

She was interrupted from her downward spiralling mood by a shadow falling across the table, and the sound of a throat being cleared. Looking up in irritation, she was surprised to find Viktor Krum standing in front of her. What on earth could he possibly want? And how had he eluded his gaggle of giggling fan girls?

_Ron eyed his long ago Nemesis with distaste. It was amazing how fast hero worship had turned into complete loathing, but that's exactly what would happen soon for his younger self. Although he was pleased to note that Hermione wasn't showing any sign of attraction. Of course, she had once mentioned that he wasn't very good looking, but he had taken that as spite over the way his fans had broken her concentration in the library. But she had meant it; She was interested in him physically, and Krum was at the other end of the spectrum. Shortish, broad, and dark, he just wasn't what she was looking for, even if what she was looking for was being an arse at the time._

"Yes, can I help you?" she tried to keep her tone polite. After all, none of this was his fault, and they were supposed to be forming ties of goodwill with the guest schools.

"Ah, I am not troubling you, I hope? But this is the first time I haff seen you when I could be sure uff speaking vith you alone."

Well, this was curious. She was no great fan of Quidditch, and she wasn't one of his usual followers, so what could he have to say to her that required privacy? "No, you're not troubling me at all. Is there something you wanted to ask me about? Something to do with the library, perhaps. I've noticed you in here quite often."

Hearing that seemed to please him, if the bright smile he gave her was any indication. It was an odd expression on his face, and she tried to recall if she had ever seen him wear anything besides a scowl.

"Yes, vell...I must be honest. I haff come to this place to see you. At least, after the first time. But it has been hard to vork up the courage to talk vith you, yes? You see, I am unused to talking much vith vomen. This may seem sudden, but I vould very much like...that is to say, vould you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Ball?"

Hermione's first reaction was anger, and hurt. That he would go to the trouble to tease her like this was cruel. Being undesirable to Ron was bad enough, but to be made a joke of by someone who was practically a stranger...but then, she paused. He looked hopeful, yet uncomfortable, as if he wasn't sure of himself. Could he be telling the truth? From what she had seen and heard, he was kept on an awfully tight leash. Rumor had it that he had never even been linked to anyone romantically. His handlers made sure his focus was kept strictly on Quidditch, and he had little to no personal life. So, in theory, that would explain his nervousness, especially given his age. Which left only one question.

"Why me?" she asked guardedly, "I'm sure any of the other girls would be glad to be your date. You don't have to...settle...for someone who isn't pretty."

Viktor cocked his head to the side, as if he was having trouble translating what she was saying. "Vhat person has told you that you vhere not beautiful? You are a lovely voman, vith the brains to match, and I haff seen you show great fire. Vhy vould I not vish you to come vith me? But I understand if you do not feel the same; do not feel that you must spare my feelings."

They were wonderful words. Words that made, her, for the first time, feel beautiful. Words that weren't from the person she most wanted to hear them from. But that wasn't going to happen, was it? Oh, she hadn't expected him to get down on one knee and proclaim undying love and devotion to her. Even if he had just asked as a friend, it would have been a start, something she could build on. But he had given her nothing; not even the smallest sign that he could ever see her in that light.

Viktor had given her hope. There was no love here, no breathless anticipation, no yearning for kisses and caresses. But someday, when she was older, she would at least have this one night to look back upon, the knowledge that she was wanted as a woman, not as some sort of tutor or problem solver. Someone actually wanted Homely Hermione, and she wouldn't have to live a life alone with only her ninety-six cats named Crookshanks. Briefly, she considered turning him down. After all, she was in love with Ron. But Ron didn't want her, did he. Fine. She had no desire to go to the ball alone, as an object of ridicule and pity. For once, she wanted to be the pretty girl. Was it so bad to want to have one fairytale night? She didn't think so.

"Yes. Yes, I would love to go to the Ball with you."

_Ron felt his heart break a little as he watched the soft, hesitant smile spread across her face, her cheeks flushing. He had dreamed of similar scenes so often, only with him as the male lead. But he could no longer bring himself to hate Krum. In the past, he had always seen him as some experienced international playboy swooping in to steal Hermione, but that was far from the mark. Krum had truly been kept fairly isolated, and who could blame him for his interest in Hermione?_

_But that wasn't what had dissolved the thick knot of hatred in his chest. No, that had been the sharp, twisting pain in Hermione's heart that had lessened at his invitation. She was a fifteen year old girl that believed herself to be totally devoid of any kind of charms, a fact unwittingly enforced by the boy she loved. She knew she had worth, of course; and it wasn't that she needed someone else to validate her. But she had wanted to feel special, as a woman to a man, and for that she needed a man. At that time, Ron had still been a boy. Krum could come to her as an emotional equal, and treat her the way she had wanted; as a woman, as someone's choice of a partner. After all, everyone wants to be wanted by the person they love. But he was years away from being the kind of man she needed. That wasn't his fault, and he had never meant for any of that to hurt her. It was just beyond his capabilities at the time. He was still at a point in his life where seeing beyond himself wasn't something that came naturally, and the thoughts of other people's emotional needs was an almost foreign concept._

_And while it was true that Hermione had a small, sharp feeling of wanting him to see what he had missed, that wasn't the reason she went with Krum. Ron was who she wanted, but she needed to experience things that girls her age normally did. Krum could give that to her. She still hurt, but she had lost the sort of hopeless despair she had been feeling. And for that reason, Ron felt himself warm a bit to the Quidditch player. He hadn't been the object of her fancies, as he had feared, or the model of the expectations she had in a boyfriend. He had merely been a stand in until Ron was able to reach the stage that a relationship was possible, one night of glamour for her to do all of the feminine things that she usually didn't bother with._

_How could he blame her for that? All she wanted was one night of compliments and dancing, a night of being charming instead of studious, of being sought after for her smiles instead of her ability to proofread an essay. It was natural, it was innocent, it was...it was not going to go well. Ron winced, feeling sick. He hadn't thought of his own actions during the Ball in years, but now he was going to have to relive them from her point of view, and the prospect wasn't a cheerful one. What was it he had said all those years ago...the words came back, along with the nasty implications they could have. A look of pain crossed his face._

_"Fucking Merlin, Hermione...damn it, why did I ever say that?"_


	17. Chapter 17

Ron pressed the weight of his body into his cupboard door, holding it firmly until it clicked closed on the mass of junk he had just shoved inside. Wiping his brow, he turned to survey the progress he had made with cleaning. He could see his rug for the first time in months (had it always been maroon and brown?), and the layers of dirt on his window had been scrubbed away. The frog tank (sans frog) had fresh water, and the candle wax had been scraped off of his night table. It wasn't anything you'd find in one of Mum's magazines, but at least he was reasonably sure it was clean enough. Alright then, that was it for the room. Checking his watch, he saw that he had ten minutes before he and his dad had to leave to pick up Hermione.

He was already wearing the longest pair of jeans he had, so he tugged the ratty blue T-shirt he was wearing over his head and tossed it behind the bed. From his dresser, he pulled a green one with small blue and brown stripes, and decided it would do. He crammed his feet into his new trainers (which were already snug) and looked in the mirror. His hair looked like someone had vomited carrots on his head, and his freckles seemed to be breeding. Oh good, he looked relatively decent today. Completely ignoring the fact that he had just tried to make himself look nice for Hermione, he rushed down the stairs, thankful that the twins were still holed up in their room.

_Hermione followed, thinking to herself that people were always so concerned over young girls' self images, when boys had it just as bad. She had always known that Ron didn't think much of himself, but it was hard to feel it firsthand, knowing that he didn't see himself as she did. She had made it clear how fit she thought he was, hadn't she? While not nearly as needy as he had been as a teenager, he still perked up at any attention she gave him. But she had always felt a bit shy with expressing her more...physical appreciation of him, afraid she only ended up looking ridiculous. Perhaps she should loosen up a bit. She would give that more consideration, and pay closer attention to this aspect as the years progressed._

The Grangers' house was the same as the last time he had seen it, and her parents were as friendly as ever. Still, he didn't want to stay too long; if they realized just what a prat he was, they might not let her come. He was relieved when she came down the stairs (though that was tempered by the effect the sight of her legs in those denim shorts had on him); he wasn't exactly sure how to answer the questions her mother was asking. How much of what went on at school had Hermione told them? He had never thought to ask her before. For the love of Merlin, what did she have in this trunk? It felt like she had stolen the entire collection of the Hogwarts' library. Then again, he supposed he should just be thankful that she wasn't bringing Crookshanks-oh. She was. Well, they got on better now, but he didn't want to come across as a pushover, so he would insist that the animal stay out of his room.

_Hermione grinned. Pushover, indeed! She knew for a fact that Ron snuck Crookshanks a fat salmon every so often, and she had caught them curled up together on the sofa for a nap on more than one occasion. She let him keep the illusion of gruffness, but it just made her love his marshmallow center all the more. Of course, sometimes the gruffness wasn't an illusion, but she was learning to take the prat with the sweet._

Why was he the one stuck lifting her rock filled trunk again? Didn't she believe in equality for women? It was on the tip of his tongue to say, but he was up against not only Hermione, but Mum and Ginny as well, and knew his odds of survival would be slim. Instead, he bent down to heave up the cause of his soon-to-be-ruptured- disc, feeling suddenly and inexplicably self conscious in the process. Shaking it off, he staggered up the stairs, wishing, not for the first time, that his house wasn't so bloody tall. He couldn't make out what the girls were saying behind him, and he had the paranoid feeling it was about him. Happily, he discovered the subject was dinner; hopefully she wouldn't think it was creepy that he had filled Mum in on her favorite foods.

Dumping her trunk (he hoped for the final time) in Ginny's room, he was about to ask Hermione up to his, when Ginny began to push him out, monopolizing Hermione's attention. He didn't like that. Not at all. She was his friend, wasn't she? Before he could get too upset, Hermione herself declared that she wanted to go upstairs, a fact he failed to notice pleased him to an almost stupid degree. His nervousness mounted the stairs with him almost like a third person; with each step, he was tempted to turn around and make some excuse to put her off. But she was going to be here until it was time to board the Hogwarts Express, not counting the time they would be camping, so he decided to just get it over with.

He took a quick look around to make sure he hadn't missed anything, and nearly tripped over his own feet in his mad dash to the bed. While he was gone, him mum had apparently decided to do some laundry, and she had left a stack of fresh pants on his bed. Snatching up the pile of bedraggled boxers, he shoved them into a drawer where they belonged, his ears steaming. Fortunately, Hermione was still too blinded by his walls to notice. Bless those walls. He had picked the color when he was six; if she thought they were bright now, she should've seen them when they were fresh!

A thud came from the attic, and Hermione jumped. "What was that?"

Ron shrugged. "The ghoul. He likes to rattle around every once and awhile."

Casting a dubious eye at the ceiling, she sat down on the bed, smirking up at him when she noticed the Chudley Cannons logo on his quilt.

"Hey, I didn't laugh at the flowers you had on yours!" he protested.

She laughed. "Yes you did! But it's better than what the twins told me; they tried to convince me that you had unicorn patterned sheets."

Ron plopped on the bed. It seemed it was his brothers' mission in life to make sure he was left with no masculine pride whatsoever.

"Are those apple trees out there?" Hermione asked, peering out the window.

"Yeah, we got apples, peaches, plums, and apricots. Even a few cherries. Mum makes all her own jams and stuff."

"That's amazing! Does she do it the Muggle way, or with magic?"

He rolled his eyes. "Like I'd know what the Muggle way is?"

Hermione sniffed. "Of course. I forgot who I was talking to; for moment, I imagined you actually helped her."

"Help? Hermione, who do you think picks the bloody fruit? It sure as hell isn't the gnomes."

"Pick the fruit?" she asked in confusion. Don't you just...I don't know, wait for it to fall?"

He laughed so hard he fell into her, knocking her onto her side, with him along with her. "Wait for them to...oh, you city people! Next you'll ask how the cow manages to aim the milk into the bottles!"

"Shut up!" she cried, slapping at his arms, "It isn't like I've ever been anywhere to see how things like that work!"

Propping himself up on one arm to grin down at her, he got that lurching feeling in his stomach that had been popping up since last year. Suddenly uncomfortable, he slid off the bed, biting the inside of his cheek. "Wanna have a look around, then? The place isn't anything fancy, but-"

"Yes! And Harry said you have chickens, too! This will be my first time seeing any with feathers. And still alive."

"Come on then."

He led the way down, his nerves calming with each step they took away from his room. Hearing a muffled curse from one of the rooms they passed, he leaned close to whisper, "That's the twins' room. Best to stay away from there, especially with the mood they're in right now. One minute they're your best friend, the next they're tearing your head off."

"Why, what's wrong with them?"

"Beats me; they hardly tell me anything anymore. Oh, and before I forget, don't eat anything they offer you, either. They're making all sorts of weird stuff, and they consider anyone fair game as test subjects."

"Sounds like you've had an exciting summer."

"Trust me, you don't want to know. I don't want to know, and I lived through it."

He showed her around the rest of the house, rushing through rooms with pictures to minimize his embarrassment. He took things slower outside, starting to become a bit more confident at all the interest she was showing. She trailed along happily, asking questions and cooing over the animals, and he thought everything was working out. Things were going so well, that he hated to go back in, sure one of his family members would say or do something to spoil it, so instead he sat on the end of the dock by the pond, thinking they could stay there till Mum called them in to dinner.

Gathering his courage, he asked her what she thought of what she had seen.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

Weasley. Yeah, he guessed that was a fairly accurate description. Weird, cheap, funny looking...what had he been expecting? and why the hell did it matter so much? He didn't know, but it did, and right now it was hard to be with her. So, muttering something about chickens, he walked off before she could see that he was upset. His footsteps took him not to the chicken coop, but the orchard, where he kicked at some of the green apples that had fallen from the trees before they had had a chance to ripen. The walk had cooled him down, and he knew he had probably overreacted. Hermione wasn't the type to set out to say something deliberately nasty (well, when they weren't fighting), and had probably meant to say something vague without having to come out and say the Burrow was a boil on the backend of nowhere. But again, why did he care what she thought? She was just Hermione. His mind flashed to her face from a few hours earlier, laughing up at him, her hair spread all over his bed. He gave himself a shake. He had been out in the sun for too long. That, or his brothers had found a way to slip him one of those mood altering sweets they had been messing with. Wouldn't be the first time. After all, what did he have to be depressed about? In two days he would be going to the biggest Quidditch match of the year, and he would get to see Viktor Krum in action. Krum! with that happy prospect, he set off towards the house, the desire to impress Hermione forgotten, at least for now.

_Hermione watched him thoughtfully. He had really tried hard, in his own way. He wanted some positive attention from her, even if it was a sort of reflected glory from his home. But Ron was still at the age where he thought things had to be grand to be impressive. And she had always assumed that his feelings for her had come over him all at once, but that was neither true, or even very realistic. His feelings were there, and getting stronger all the time. But it wasn't something he had any experience in, or even any interest up till recently. It came on him in flashes, in surges of hormones and affection. But there was also fear there; fear of change, fear of the unknown. Ron had always found it easier to ignore things rather than deal with them, until they got so bad he was overwhelmed. And that was exactly what he was setting himself up for now, without realizing it. But she wasn't the only thing he was having difficulties with, as the next scene proved._

Ron lay in his cot, his head full of mixed feelings. The day had been bloody amazing, even better than he had dreamed. It was his first time travelling by Port-Key, and while weird, it made him feel as if he was somehow more experienced; it may not have been very far, but to him it still counted as travel. The tents were a surprise as well. He had heard of them, but his family had never been able to swing one. It came at a good time, since it would have been far less impressive to ask Harry and Hermione camp out the Muggle way. Not that he ever had himself, but he had heard the experience left something to be desired, and he had no wish to test that assumption.

Saving his pocket money had been hard, since it meant the sacrifice of chocolate, which was a blow to his sweet tooth, but it had been worth it. The Krum figure (no matter what Ginny and the twins called it, it wasn't a _doll_.) had instantly become one of his prize possessions, and he still thought Krum was spectacular, even if his team had lost. As a Cannon's fan, he knew the importance of being faithful through a slump, and it would take a lot more than one loss to give up on his idol.

_Hermione chuckled. Ron was faithful to a fault, but when he was done with someone, he was done. even now, whenever the Bulgarian Quidditch team had a setback, she could count on Ron to go about with a faint, pleased smile. He never said anything, but his quiet smugness made her roll her eyes. But she couldn't call him on it, otherwise he might ask why purple was such an underrepresented color in her wardrobe. Or, more specifically, a certain shade of purple._

And the game itself! He would never forget that, not as long as he lived. He had committed every move to memory, and couldn't wait to sneak out on one of the brooms to practice. There was sure to be an opening on the Gryffindor team before the end of his seventh year, and he meant to at least throw his hat in the ring. It had been so fun, he had even forgotten that Malfoy was around; the little bell end hadn't been able to ruin his day for once. The only really scary part had been with the Veelas; you felt invincible when you were under their spell, but once you came out of it, you felt a right fool. Hermione's scathing expression whenever it was mentioned was enough to tell him that he probably didn't want to remember whatever it was he had done.

Hermione. That brought him to the first hitch in his day. Things had been perfectly normal up until they had joined up with the Diggory's, and then she and Ginny had changed. They had begun whispering and giggling together, shooting looks at Cedric that he couldn't quite comprehend, but he knew he didn't like. It was odd enough seeing his sister and his friend acting so...unlike themselves. And the way Cedric had smiled back, like some sort of gormless fool, had made his teeth clench. He hadn't realized how much he disliked him for beating Harry last year until today.

_Yes, she and Ginny had been admiring Cedric. He was awfully cute, and it wasn't as if either of them was in a relationship, or that the boys they were interested in were even aware of them. Neither of them had been serious about him for a minute, but he had been nice to look at, and it had been refreshing to have another girl to experience those kinds of things with._

Harry was actually the second thing that had bothered him today. Not that he had done anything wrong. It wasn't even something that would bother anyone else, and it was likely stupid that it bothered him. He had appreciated the offer of the Omnioculars, because they really were something he wouldn't normally get a chance to own. And while his inability to turn them down had been something he wasn't proud of, it was the easy way Harry had brushed everything off and paid for the lot that troubled him most. Everything seemed to come so easily to Harry, and he couldn't help but think how unfair it was. Then he would remember about his parents, the wretched life he had with the Dursleys, and the whole You-Know-Who business, and he became ashamed of himself. It's just...it was hard sometimes, being so far under his friend's level. The only thing that had made it any easier had been the fact that Hermione had taken a pair too, and didn't seem to think they were taking advantage of Harry. And then, like some miracle, he had been able to pay with the Leprechaun gold. It had been as good as paying for himself, or very nearly. He wondered if that was how Harry felt all the time; poor one minute, then bam! You could buy whatever you liked. He supposed, glumly, that this was as close as he would ever get to finding out.

Irritated with himself, he turned over on his side and shoved his head under the pillow, determined to sleep his negative thoughts away. Harry couldn't help it, and it wasn't like he had ever done anything on purpose to make things go his way. And when he had hit a lucky streak, he had always tried to make sure Ron had gotten something out of it, hadn't he? Because Harry was a good friend, and if he was half as good he would stop whining and get over it. He would just do something extra nice for Christmas to make up for it. Somehow.

_There it was, money again. While he had never been what you would call overly obsessed or bitter, his family's financial state had bothered him, and she could see how it played a part in the fight he was to have with Harry. It was just one more area he felt he fell short, and it was something that winning the Tournament could have helped, at least in his eyes. Some people might have called that greedy, but what was wrong with wanting to be able to pay your own way, and maybe be able to treat your friends? Nothing. If anything, she had always admired his refusal to take advantage of the generosity of others. Many people would have happily used being poor as an excuse to let other people do things for them, but that had never been Ron's way._

_Anger._

_Betrayal._

_Hurt._

_Successive punches of intense emotions had Hermione doubled over, trying to untangle her feelings from Ron's, which wasn't easy, since it was very much like being caught in a high windstorm. Obviously, they had come to the point of the fight with Harry, and she could tell she was in for a bumpy ride, though hopefully a short one._

Ron stalked up the stairs of one of the smaller towers, wanting to be alone. He was in a foul mood, and everyone seemed to be setting him off. It was all, 'Harry this' and 'Harry that,' and he was sick of it. There wasn't anything to talk about, in his opinion. The usual would happen; Harry would pull some daring stunts, win the Tournament, and everyone would love him. That's basically what had happened every year, so why should this year be any different? Only this time, he would get rich, and wouldn't even have to sit end of year exams.

"Because it's always so bloody easy for him. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Wins. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Falls in Shit and Comes Up Smelling Like Roses. Harry-"

"Ron Weasley, the Boy Who Talks to Himself."

Ron spun from where he had been leaning over the railing to find that Hermione had come up behind him. He had thought he would be alone here, since he had never seen anyone but the three of them here.

"What are you doing here? Thought you would be off with the Four-Eyed Hero." Ron said sulkily.

Hermione slapped him none too gently on the arm. "Don't be like that! You know I've tried my best to split my time evenly between the two of you."

"No one asked you to," he mumbled, looking away with a shrug.

"No, no one did. I do it because you're both my friends and I want to spend time with you, and since you're both being stubborn prats, I have to do it one at a time instead of together."

He felt himself softening, but he wanted the distraction of a fight. "I guess you've come up here to try to get me to apologize again. Well, you can save your breath, because it's not going to happen."

Maybe that was a bit harsh, but there was a part of him that believed that was all she was there for. She had been trying to get him to talk to Harry, and he had found himself wondering if she really wanted to spend time with him at all, or if she just wanted to make things easier for Harry.

Instead of blowing up like he had thought she would, she merely rested her elbows on the stone rail, rubbing her temples, looking suddenly very tired. Ron felt the stirrings of guilt, but said nothing.

"Just tell me one thing."

"What?"

"Do you honestly believe Harry put his name in the Goblet?"

Ron opened his mouth a few times, trying to say that of course he did, that all the evidence proved it, that Harry wasn't as perfect as she thought...but the words wouldn't come, because deep down, he didn't truly believe it. It was just...well, there was no pretty way to put it. He was jealous of Harry. The money, the fame, the dress robes that didn't look like an old woman's curtains. It had been piling up on him lately, and the prestige of being a Champion while he was left in the dust again was just too much. And with everyone else believing that Harry had done it, it was easy to let himself pretend to think so, too. Harry had always been his friend, and he had always tried his best not to feel this way towards him, but the opportunity to do so without anyone finding out how stupid he was too much to resist. As long as he could be mad, the less time he had to spend focusing on his own shortcomings. He could never tell Hermione that, however. She would be disgusted with him, and then he'd be short two friends.

"I...no," he finally said, meeting her eyes for the first time.

She gave a small smile. "I didn't think so."

They stood side by side in companionable silence for a while, and Ron realized two things; one, she wasn't going to say anymore about Harry, and two, he really hadn't wanted to be alone at all. They stayed like that for a good fifteen minutes, until both of them noticed a short, unmistakable figure going in the direction of the lake. Only one person had hair that bad.

"I should probably go down and see how he's doing." Hermione said with a sigh.

Ron's mood, which had begun to brightened, was hit with such a downpour that he nearly looked up at the sky to see if it was raining.

"You don't have to go right now. It won't kill him to wait an hour. Or two."

She shook her head. "You can see how upset he looks from here."

Ron glanced down, then traded a knowing look with her. They both knew his moods well, and needed to only see a fraction of his expression to read it. "You know he's probably going to take it out on you," he warned her, partially because it was true, and partially in the hopes of convincing her to stay.

"Well, if you came with me, you could-"

"No."

"Fine. But Ron, Harry is your friend, and he needs you right now. I'm the only one that really talks to him anymore, but I know that he misses you, just like you miss him."

"I do not!" he protested with a scowl. Though that wasn't true. When Hermione was with Harry, he usually hung around his brothers and Lee, and while that was alright, it just wasn't the same. Especially with the funny way they had been acting lately.

But right now, the only thing he was aware of was the fact that he had been right; Hermione only cared about Harry's feelings. It hurt, because he needed her right now, but just like everything else in his life, she went to Harry.

"Oh yes you do. Don't try to tell me any different; I went through the same thing last year. I know you aren't ready yet, but...try to make up soon, alright? I know you want to, even if you can't because of some strange reasons only understood by boys."

He gave a grunt that could be taken either way, but that seemed to be enough to satisfy her, and she turned to go. Ron looked out over the grounds, feeling lonelier than he than he had been before. But moments later she returned, pulling a small bundle out from under her robes and thrusting it into his hands.

"Here. You left breakfast early this morning, and I know you didn't get nearly enough to eat. I made these up for you; sorry I forgot to give them to you sooner."

She was gone before he had finished untying the large white cloth, revealing four bacon sandwiches. He stared at them a moment. She had noticed, and she had taken not only the time to make them, but had gone through the trouble of looking for him as well. He picked up a sandwich, smiling goofily as he took a large bite.

Maybe someone did think about him, after all.

_Hermione could have laughed that off as Ron being easily pleased by food, but she didn't. The act had really touched him, and he had needed the reassurance. At the time, she thought he was doing better than Harry, since he had his brothers and the other boys, but she had been wrong. While he did enjoy spending time with them, she and Harry were his best friends, and he needed as much support from her as Harry did. But Ron didn't talk about his own needs, partially because he didn't know how, but mainly because he believed them to be unimportant, and assumed others believed that as well._

_Seeing this actually made her a little proud of the last fight they had had. He had come out and said that he wanted her focus to be more on him when he needed her, which was something he wouldn't have done years ago. And she knew he didn't mean that he wanted her attention for himself, or to not care about Harry. That was ridiculous. Ron cared about Harry himself, and knew that she would too, as his friend. All he was asking was that he be put first in the appropriate situation, which was perfectly reasonable. Next time he was confiding his worries, she would try to encourage him without using any kind of comparison to Harry, even if it was in Ron's favor. They were in a relationship, and that meant that the other came first. Of course she would still be concerned for Harry and would still talk about him, and if he was in danger, there would be no question of voicing her worry to Ron. But she needed to handle things in a way that showed Ron that his issues were important to her, and that she wasn't brushing him off. He had done the same with her whenever she had complained about work, and he deserved to be treated in the same way. They were equals and partners, and marriage meant that you took care of the other person, looking after their wellbeing._

_The cold stone had softened to warm carpet beneath her feet, and she found herself standing between two chairs in the Common Room, Ron in one, Harry in the other. She could just see the tips of hair belonging to her younger self as she marched around the bend in the stairs to the girls' dorm, and Ron was blinking in surprise._

"Do you know what's got her Kneazel in a knot?"

Harry shrugged in a distracted manner. "I don't know, but I think something may have gotten lost in translation there. And you probably could've been a bit more tactful."

"Tactful? Why'd I need to be tactful? She made it sound like I was insulting her sister or something!"

"I hear you. Maybe her planets are out of alignment or something. Anyway, I'm going up too. Maybe I'll be able to think of something to do about this ball mess."

Ron listened to Harry's footsteps fade away, then he leaned back in the chair, sprawling his legs and tossing a small cushion up in the air. He replayed the conversation, but couldn't understand what had gotten her all defensive. So he wanted to go to the Ball with a pretty girl. So what? Isn't that what everyone wanted? At least, that's how he understood it. Everyone dressed up in their best clothes, snagged the best looking partner they could find, and tried not to look like a loser.

Well, he was already behind. He_ was_ a loser. At least compared to most people. As for clothes, he would do better to wear Mum's best tablecloth. Not only was it far less frilly, but it wouldn't clash near as badly with his hair. All that left him was finding a date that he wouldn't be laughed out of the school for. Going alone wasn't even an option. He could hear the snide remarks Malfoy would make right now. Even if he didn't drop out from embarrassment, then expulsion for murdering another student was guaranteed. (Unless he got Mad-Eye on his side. Good ol' Mad-Eye. First rate professor right there. Hogwarts could use a dozen more just like him.)

And it wasn't as if he was planning on marrying the girl, or even dating her seriously! It was just one lousy dance! It wasn't like a girl with any sense would go out with him; the best he could hope for was a mildly attractive airhead. Seamus had gotten to Lavender already, the wanker, and she was possibly one of the dimmest girls in his year. There was what's-her-face...Parti? Parvo? Parvati. (Why could he never get her name right on the first go? He had only known her since first year, for fuck's sake.) She would be alright too.

Deciding that Harry had the right of it, he trailed upstairs to bed, falling asleep before he could make up his mind what to do next.

_Hermione wanted to scream. Or throw something. Or both. Girls in their year had been limited, but he hadn't even considered her! But then, his criteria included 'stupid enough to be seen with him,' and for Ron, stupid and Hermione had no business even being in the same room together. So yes, he had been shallow, but he hadn't been looking for someone to drool over all evening. All he had wanted was a girl who didn't make him look stupid, or, barring that, one that at least allowed him to blend in with everyone else. It was stupid and juvenile and hurtful, but he was fourteen years old, for the love of Merlin! Not exactly the age of judgement and wisdom. Or taste, for that matter, but she was trying not to be catty over his consideration of Lavender. Right now he was considering anything in a skirt, and probably would have taken Harry if he had been in drag. Besides, he hadn't been the least bit enthusiastic over the thought of Lavender anyway._

_Outside, the darkness rapidly lightened as the sun rose higher and higher, and around her the Common Room sped into fast forward, until once again she was stalking off from the boys, only this time Ginny was there as well._

"What did I say this time?" he moaned, looking at his sister and best friend beseechingly.

Harry answered tentatively, like he did when he was asked a surprise question in class that he wasn't sure of. "Uh...maybe it was for laughing at Neville?"

Ron couldn't understand this. Of course he had laughed. It wasn't that he didn't like Neville; he was one of the nicest blokes in Gryffindor, as well as being one of the easiest to get on with. But he wasn't the stuff of a young girl's dreams, even Ron could see that. In fact, he figured the two of them were roughly on the same level, with him not treading on the girl's feet every other step the only thing making him a more attractive prospect.

He wasn't stupid; he knew any girl that would go with him was more than likely only doing so to get close to Harry, which was another reason he wasn't keen on getting too attached to anyone in particular. He had seen the way they had started to moon over Harry, and were polite to him since they knew he was Harry's friend. That didn't mean he was eager to spend the evening with a girl making cow eyes at Harry with him in the middle. But he had solved that, hadn't he? It had worked fine for Fred, so where had he gone wrong? His brother had made it look so slick and easy; approach friend, casually toss out an invite, and that was all there was to it.

_"Oh, Ron, you sweet idiot," moaned Hermione. How on earth had he thought that would be a good idea?_

But instead of accepting like Angelina had, she had lied to him. Of course it had been a lie. She said last year that she would tell him about anything important, and getting a date certainly fell under that heading. She didn't have to be ashamed; it wasn't like he was doing so hot himself.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Ginny snapped angrily.

Ron wished he could see her ears under her hair. He had an uneasy suspicion they were pink, and he shuffled back a step as his danger senses tingled.

"Get what?"

"Oh, for the love of...are all boys so blind and stupid, or have you cornered the market? You're in for a surprise, brother mine, and I don't think it's going to be a happy one."

"You're going to have to be a bit clearer."

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she turned to Harry, who looked as if he was doing a complicated maths formula to figure out the distance to the nearest exit. He probably was.

"Harry, let Ron borrow your glasses. He's too farsighted for his own good, and he's missing what's right in front of his face."

Before either boy could say a word, she was storming off in the direction Hermione had taken, and Ron heard her mutter, "Not that they seem to be doing you a damn bit of good either."

Harry was off as well, leaving Ron standing there, totally at sea. What had just happened? What had he missed? Who had, in fact, killed Cock Robin? The world was a mad, mad place, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to make sense. Hermione could probably tell him, but she was currently part of the problem. That, at least, he could fix. He would wear her down over the next few days, and she would go with him, or maybe Harry. Because she didn't have a date. There was no way. At all. He would know. So why did he have the feeling in the pit of his stomach that said he was missing something vitally important?

_Stomachache was an understatement. His instincts were screaming warnings at him, but he didn't, or couldn't, understand. He was trying to sell the lie to himself that she wasn't going with anyone, but he hadn't entirely bought it. The thought made him nervous and uneasy, and she could feel the tension building within him. Every word, every action over the next few days was like laying wood for a fire, ready to spark to life his temper, along with something else, and the resulting conflagration wasn't going to be pretty, and someone was going to get burnt._

_And the Yule Ball was going to be the perfect match to set it alight._


	18. Chapter 18

**Welcome, friends, to the Yule Ball special! Here we have two chapters of hormone-ridden angst with our favorite couple, with a tiny bonus third chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far; it always makes my day to hear from you! The next update will still be set in fourth year, so don't worry if things (particularly on the Krum front) don't seem wrapped up this time.**

**IMPORTANT: Remember, you are reading about two teenagers! Their feelings at times may be over the top, and their reactions overblown. At that age, not only do you say things you don't mean, but think them as well. **

**Special thanks to HalfASlug for betaing this, despite being injured for at least the first chapter. If I discover who poured salt on her, I shall be quite cross.**

The days before the Ball seemed to pass at a frantic pace to Hermione, who was juggling her end of term work and keeping her date a secret. Harry had been blessedly quiet on the subject, but Ron couldn't seem to let it alone. Several times a day he would ask her who she was going with, and a few times he had inserted it so slyly into the conversation that she had almost let it slip. It wasn't that she was trying to be especially coy, and she had good reasons. The first was the fact that she was going with Viktor Krum. If word got out, she knew his followers would tear her to pieces, and she had no desire to spend her days watching over her shoulder for an incoming Hex.

The second, stronger reason was Ron. The plain fact of the matter was she didn't want to see how shocked and disbelieving he would be. She could imagine him going on and on about how Viktor could have got any girl he wanted, and having to hear that was more than she could deal with. She knew he wouldn't mean anything bad by it, but the fact that he couldn't see her as a girl, much less a desirable girl, still stung. Instead, she would just let him find out at the Ball, and by the time she saw him, he would have gotten over his surprise. Ron would just see it as a chance to get close to Viktor anyway; if anything, he was most likely going to be jealous of her, and would gladly go in her place. And if his dress robes were as lacey as she remembered, he could probably manage it.

_Ron grimaced at the memory of those robes. They had been properly shredded and burned, with the appropriate curses muttered over them. He had always wondered why she had never just come out and told him, maybe rubbed it in his face a little. Though he couldn't deny that he probably would have said something like she feared. It wouldn't have been on purpose, but his large foot would have slipped right into his even larger mouth._

And she had to admit, hurt played a part in keeping quiet as well. Asking her as some sort of-of last resort or something, then acting as if it was ridiculous that anyone would have her! It had been tempting to point out that he didn't exactly have girls queuing up to go with him, but she had managed to bite that back before she could start a fight to rival last year's. It always surprised her how a boy who could be so caring one moment could be so callous the next. For example, his total disregard of her had her in tears at one point, but then, when that two-legged ferret Malfoy had Hexed her, he had been right at her side to see what was wrong, and the concern on his face could be nothing other than genuine. Of course, afterwards it had taken him ages to notice the change in her teeth, so it was like being on an emotional see-saw. Up she would go at the slightest hint of interest, and then down she would plummet at his next thoughtless action.

It was exhausting; while Viktor was rather bland, and least he never made her feel as if her heart was being twisted out of shape. The only one who knew her secret was Ginny; she had needed to tell someone, and Ginny would be able to understand perfectly, given her own situation with Harry. She had hoped she had given good advice there, but she had felt that someone should help the younger girl. Ginny was strong and confident, vivacious and outgoing. Except when it came to Harry. Whenever he was around, she would freeze up, her responses becoming infrequent and wooden. It was painful to watch, and one night while she had been at the Burrow, Hermione had finally broached the subject. Ginny confirmed that she had strong feelings for Harry, and was frustrated with herself for becoming a mess when she tried to get close to him. Harry, of course, was completely oblivious.

Hermione had suggested that Ginny go ahead and go with some of the boys that had asked her out. Ginny had balked at first; why see someone else, when it was Harry that she loved? Hermione had pointed out that that was the reason; if she focused her attentions on someone else, she might be able to loosen up and be more natural with Harry, once she had some experience in the had reluctantly agreed, and Hermione thought it was progress that she was going to the Ball with Neville, who was a nice boy and completely safe. He had no romantic interest in Ginny, so wasn't likely to put any pressure on her. She would have gone with him herself if she wasn't going with Viktor. Neville had been a perfect gentleman; he had made it clear that he was asking as a friend, without it coming across like the idea of a real date would be ludicrous.

She shivered in the cold, pulling her wand from her pocket long enough to cast a Warming Charm. The boys were having a snowball fight, and while she would normally join in, she didn't want to get hot and sweaty before she needed to change, knowing the showers would be packed with other girls getting ready for the night. Instead, she watched from a distance safe enough from any errant projectiles as Ron and Harry battled it out with Fred and George. It was good to see Harry having such a good time; now that he and Ron were speaking again, he had lost some of the bleakness that had been eating him up. But most of her attention was on Ron; his hair flopping in his eyes as he darted from tree to tree, his laughter as he scored a hit on one of his brothers. She could feel her lips turning up in a smile, the sight of him warming her in a way her Charm could not. With a sigh, she glanced away. Why couldn't things be simple? This falling in love business was all wrong; wouldn't it be much better if you could just rationally choose someone you were compatible with, and once it was established that you were a good fit and no one would get hurt, then you could fall in love? That way sounded much more sensible to her. Waiting had never been one of her strong points, but it seemed as if she was doomed to do a lot of it where Ron was concerned.

At five, she decided she should go in, if she wanted any hope of getting her hair under control, so she said her goodbyes and made her way inside, Ron's final attempt at finding out who her date was ringing in her ears. She was hit with an urge to turn around and yell at him; that it was supposed to be him, that she had always wanted it to be him, if he would ever take the time to notice her. But he hadn't, so she didn't, instead tramping down the snow harder than necessary as she crossed the grounds.

Pandemonium reigned in the girls' dorms. Shrieks and squeals echoed down the corridors, as girls raced back and forth between each other's rooms and the showers. Everyone was in various stages of dress, and the air was already heavy with the clashing scents of perfumes, lotions, and hair products. Eyes watering, she slid into her own room, which was empty at the moment. It wouldn't stay that way for long, so she rushed about, setting herself up at the prime spot in front of the room's large mirror. She laid out several brushes and combs, along with a few bottles of Sleekeasy's. The stuff had been guaranteed to work on even the most unruly hair, and she intended to test that claim tonight. Deciding to do her hair and makeup before she put on her dress to reduce the possibility of spilling anything on it, she sat down with an air of determination.

_Ron watched as she did battle with her hair, thankful that his own, though a laughable color, was easier to tame. It was hard not to laugh, as every time she managed to smooth it down, a random curl would pop up. She kept giving little screams of frustration, and when Parvati and Lavender came by to pick up their clothes before heading to one of their sixth year friend's room, they nearly got their heads taken off when they asked if she was having a hard time._

Once her hair was firmly in place and she was relatively sure it would stay up, she was able to concentrate on her makeup, glad that her mother had given her pointers over the summer. It felt odd to be trying so hard over something she usually didn't bother with, but satisfying too. Talent agents were never going to knock down her door with modeling offers, but she supposed she cleaned up well enough. And she was determined to look her best tonight; She knew that other girls would be ready to pick her apart when they saw she was with Viktor, and she had no plans to give them anything to work with. And no matter how exciting the prospect of tonight was, there was a part of her heart that was still sad. She should be getting dressed up for Ron; instead, she was going with a man who was more of an experiment and confidence boost than a date, and Ron was going with another girl. The thought made her slightly sick, before she considered how uninterested he seemed to be.

When she had heard Harry telling Ron that he had gotten them dates, she had wanted to cry; Ron had gotten his pretty girl after all, and now he would probably have a magical night with her, fall in love, get married and make dozens of ginger babies. But instead of looking excited, he had only seemed relieved that he wouldn't end up looking like a loser, and had promptly lost interest in the subject; in fact, he was paying more attention to who she might be going with than he did the girl who was going with him. She hoped that was a good sign.

_Ron choked. Marriage and babies had been the farthest thing from his mind! Hell, he hadn't even been looking for a steady girl! It had just been one less thing to get made fun of for, and he hadn't really cared who the girl was. Poor Padma. He really had been an arse to her. Even before he had seen Hermione that night, he had been focused on her and who she might be with. He had never really given the other girl any proper consideration at all; even now, he couldn't remember what she had looked like that night, and he always forgot that she had actually been his first date._

She was just applying the last coat of lipgloss when the door opened, and Ginny stuck her head in.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes. The others are getting ready with a bunch of girls in another room. Which is good, because Lavender would be sure to try to pry the name of my date out of me."

Ginny grinned, coming all the way into the room, shutting the door behind her. "And that would mean the entire school would know under fifteen minutes. Where's your dress? Unless you plan on doing the casual look."

Hermione rolled her eyes, going to the cupboard where her dress robes were hanging. She pulled it out, glad her mother had convinced her to go with this one. Her original choice had been a sober black piece, which she realized now would have made her look like a fifty year old widow.

"I was just getting ready to put it on. You came just in time, since I'll need help getting the zipper up."

"I can do that. I had actually come to see if you needed any help with your hair, but it looks like you managed by yourself. It looks amazing!"

"It should, after all the gunk I had to slather on it. Your hair, on the other hand is naturally perfect, and I'm sure every boy there will want to dance with you tonight."

Ginny gave a weak smile as Hermione changed behind one of the beds, the curtains blocking her from view. "I wouldn't bet on that, but thanks. How's it coming back there?"

Hermione smoothed the skirts, and stepped around the foot of the bed. "What do you think?" she asked nervously.

Ginny came closer, a wide smile breaking out on her face. "Hermione, you look gorgeous! Oh, he's going to absolutely drop his teeth when he sees you!"

The complement both pleased and embarrassed her, and her cheeks were pink from more than the blush she had applied. "Don't be silly. I'm sure Viktor has seen plenty of-"

"Not him, Ron! I know my brother, and he's going to need a bucket to catch all the drool. This will definitely make him kick himself for not asking you sooner."

Hermione frowned. "I seriously doubt it. His tastes seem to lean more toward snooty French girls."

With a dismissive wave of her hand, Ginny moved behind her to finish zipping the back. "Oh please. First of all, every boy within a mile is being stupid over her, but that's only because she's part Veela. Second, Ron's scared spitless of her, and wouldn't know what to do with her if he had her."

"I'm sure he could figure it out. Besides, even if not her, he still has a date for tonight."

"A date that won't be able to look past those hideous dress robes he's stuck with. Honestly, those were the best ones available, and they could be fixed up to look halfway decent. I'm surprised he hasn't asked me for help; he knows I fix up my own clothes."

Hermione looked up from where she had been sliding her feet into her heels. "Ginny, are you telling me you could have helped him, and you never said anything?"

Her friend gave her a wicked smile that would have had the twins shuddering. "Well, I would have, if he had asked the right girl. But since he didn't, I wasn't particularly motivated."

"Ginny, that's horrible!"

"I'd find it easier to believe that if you weren't giggling. Besides, it's like I said; he won't care about anything else once he sees you."

Setting down the small bottle of perfume her parents had given her, Hermione turned to Ginny. "You do know that this date tonight...it's with Viktor, but I don't want you to think..."

"That you're cheating on my brother? Of course not! Look, I know you wanted him to ask, but since he didn't, there's nothing wrong with going with someone else. I'm only sorry you picked the brother that has all the charm and consideration of a warthog."

"That's not fair, Ginny. I don't want some slick charmer, and anyway Ron can be quite sweet when..."

"When he's not being an insensitive git. I know. He has a good heart, if you're willing to fight through the layer of pratishness. And who knows? Maybe seeing you with someone else tonight will finally get him to wake up and make a move."

"Do you really think so?"

Ginny patted her arm as both girls walked to the door. "Knowing Ron, probably not. But a girl has to dream, doesn't she?"

_Ron glared at his sister. He had forgotten that Mum had taught her things that could have helped him, and it had never occurred to him to ask. But what irritated him more than that (and more than the insults, since they were mild by her standards) was the comment she had just made to Hermione. Yes, she had briefly thought that something like that might happen, but then she had put it out of her mind as unlikely, and had resolved to enjoy her evening for what it was. Ginny's words had made her think of it again, and there was a part of her that was hoping that he would give her the tiniest sign of interest. That maybe, if she really did look pretty enough tonight, he might decide that she was worth his time. What was going to happen would have been bad enough, but hope always made disappointment so much worse. He knew that from experience; in fact, he had fought against hope so long just for that very reason._

_She was as beautiful as he remembered her being as she glided down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor Common Room, and Krum seemed to think so too, by the way his eyes lit up when he met her at the top of the main stairs._

Her knees were weak with nerves, and she was thankful that she hadn't worn the shoes with the higher heel. These were difficult enough, since she only got to wear this type of shoe in the winter, and she was still going to have to dance. The thought of all those people watching made her stomach roil. Hopefully, the first dance wouldn't be very long, and she would get through it without any mishap. She smiled brightly up at Viktor, who lifted her hand and placed a small kiss on the knuckles.

"You look stunning tonight, Herm-own-ninny. Are you ready to go down?"

Oh dear. He still couldn't seem to get her name right. It was fine for a short time, but she didn't know how long she could handle being referred to as 'ninny.'

"You look nice yourself, and I'm ready to go if you are."

He offered her his arm, and Hermione took it, silently praying that if she tripped, she wouldn't take him down with her. As they passed through the crowd of students that were milling about, double-takes were given so hard that Hermione thought some might be in danger of whiplash. The looks of stunned disbelief on people's faces told her that her efforts had paid off; it would be flattering, if they didn't look so surprised. She knew she had a reputation as a plain little swot, but was it really so shocking that she could look nice?

They had joined Cedric and Fleur, along with their partners, before slipping out one of the side doors to make an entrance with the other Durmstrang students. It was cold outside, and her clothing wasn't well suited to it, so she was glad that they weren't out long. They entered at the front of the group, and a few minutes later, she noticed Harry. She almost called out, but his eyes seemed to slide right over her, and she realized with a start that he didn't recognize her. Charming. One of her best friends didn't even know her without her nose in a book and ink on her fingers.

But a few seconds later she saw his green eyes flicker with recognition, and she greeted him and Parvati cheerfully, trying to act as if she did this sort of thing all the time. Parvati looked like she was going to choke on her own tongue, but Hermione was distracted by the group of girls sending her murderous glares. Her hand itched for her wand, but she had had to leave it in her room since she had no place to keep it; her only consolation was that the others were unarmed as well.

And she would never forget the looks on Pany's and Draco's faces; that moment when, after desperately searching for a nasty comment, they came up dry. Her sweet moment of triumph was short lived, however, when she saw who was coming up behind him. It was Ron, but he never spared her a glance. He just kept moving forward at a brisk pace, the muscle in his jaw pulsing ominously. Padma had to hurry to keep up with him, and Hermione wondered if he even noticed that he was in danger of leaving her behind.

However, she wasn't allowed to worry about that for long, because Viktor was steering her up to the main table, where he pulled out her chair for her before taking his seat beside her. She felt awkward all of a sudden. While she had gone to nice restaurants and events with her parents, and she was used to at least some level of sophistication, this was slightly beyond her. Always before she had been on the fringe of things, never having to offer more than a polite response. Now she was expected to be contributing to the conversation, and her words could have a serious effect on the relations between the schools if she wasn't careful. Either of the other two headmasters were liable to take offense where none was meant, but she couldn't stay silent and appear rude.

It didn't help that Viktor seemed to be a man of few words; under Karkaroff's watchful eye, he seemed to have been struck mute. Hermione saw that it would be up to her to get things moving, and she seized her chance when the older man's attention was drawn away from their end of the table. She avoided Quidditch, because she was hopeless with the terms, and Viktor had seemed weary whenever someone had brought up the subject. S.P.E.W., while dear to her heart, was probably too contentious to bring up; her own classmates were less than receptive, and Viktor came from a more...repressed area. Desperately, she tossed out a comment about the differences in climates and how he was coping with them. He seized upon it gratefully, and launched into a fairly interesting description of life at his school.

Hermione, always fascinated to learn about other cultures, listened with rapt attention. The conversation carried them through the meal, though Hermione paid little attention to the food. Viktor would never be mistaken for a sparkling conversationalist, but the subject was interesting, and he seemed to hang on her every word, something that she was unused to, but quite liked.

Soon enough, it was time for the opening dance, and Hermione hoped her palm wasn't sweating too badly as he led her to the floor, where they took their positions with the other champions. Harry looked as if he would rather be facing another Horntail, and she would have found it funny if she didn't suspect she was wearing the same expression. The music started, and she put the hand that Viktor wasn't holding on his shoulder, while his free hand rested on her waist. As they began to move, she inwardly blessed her parents for those six years of dance lessons that she used to bemoan as a waste of time. With each step she became more confident that she would make it without stepping on his feet, and she began to actually enjoy herself. Much of the pressure was removed when other students began to trickle onto the floor, and she discovered that she liked dancing much more than she had as a child. It was also more tiring than she had remembered, and after a few dances, she had worked up quite a thirst. Viktor was attentive enough to notice.

"If you vait here, I will be bringing us back something to drink. Vould you be vanting punch, or a butterbeer? It might be a few minutes, as the tables look rather crowded."

"A butterbeer would be lovely, thanks. Don't rush; my feet could use the rest."

She drifted off to the back wall to wait for him, watching the other students as they danced.

"Look Fred, the lovely Miss Granger is free. It seems she's out-danced our scowling Bulgarian friend."

Hermione turned at George's voice, finding him with his brother, along with their dates. "Don't you two start. Viktor's been perfectly nice, and I fully intend to enjoy the rest of my evening without you making fun of me."

They raised their hands defensively. "Peace! Our dates have threatened us into good behaviour. Besides, who's taking the mickey? You do look good; even that git Malfoy gave you a good once over."

Narrowing her eyes, she saw that the older boys seemed genuine, and she let herself relax. "Thanks. I suppose I'm just tired of people looking at me like a Muggle coming across a unicorn. Have you seen Ginny? She looked great tonight too."

Fred snickered into his bottle of butterbeer. "Yeah, all the Weasley's are in fine form tonight. Except poor Ron. When I saw him when he was getting ready, I thought he was going to use all of that extra lace to hang himself, didn't you, George?"

"I dunno; I think the look on his face when he saw Hermione come in with Krum was funnier. Thought he was going to piss himself for a minute!"

Hermione glared at the giggling twins, whose dates were rolling their eyes. "Don't you dare start on him! He feels bad enough about those robes as it is without you making it worse, and the fact that I got to meet one of his favorite Quidditch stars when he hasn't has probably made things worse."

The twins exchanged an odd look that she couldn't decipher. "Yeeeah. I'm sure that's what his problem was. Why don't you go talk to him? Last we saw, he didn't look like he was having too much fun."

"Speaking of not having fun, how about the two of you stop yammering poor Hermione's ears off and come dance?" Angelina asked.

Fred bowed. "My lady has spoken. See you later, Hermione!"

She waved, then decided to take George's advice and look for Ron. She hadn't seen him dancing, which had come as a surprise, since she figured he would want to show off the fact that he was with Padma. But unless she was very much mistaken, that was Padma over there, being twirled around by a boy from Beauxbatons. She finally spotted Ron along with Harry, both slumped in their seats and looking utterly miserable. It was horrible of her, but a part of her was pleased to see that he wasn't getting too friendly with Padma. Maybe this would show him that prettiness wasn't the only thing to look for in a girl. But he wouldn't want to hear that, so, guilty for enjoying his discomfort, she went over to see if she could cheer him up a bit.

And that was probably the biggest mistake she had made all night.

She had tried to be pleasant, really she had. She knew this wasn't the kind of event where Ron would feel comfortable, and she knew the shame of his dress robes compounded that. But he had gotten what he wanted, a pretty girl to take to the Ball, and it wasn't her fault that that had turned sour too. Then he started making cutting remarks about Viktor, which she couldn't understand. Why did he care if Viktor was interested in her? _He_ certainly wasn't. And it wasn't as if she had sought the Quidditch star out. So why was he making her feel sneaky and clandestine? Her temper was flaring, but she still tried to reign it in, until he accused her of helping Viktor against Harry, saying that was why he was seeing her in the first place. When she heard that, it was like a blow to her head, leaving her dizzy and sick to her stomach.

I_t hurt. It hurt so much_. To be told that no one could possibly want you unless they were using you was bad enough, but to be told that by the boy you're in love with...and then to imply that she would do something like that to Harry, as if she would betray her best friend for someone she hardly knew! Her magical night was cracking down the middle like one of Professor Trelawney's crystal balls, the harsh reality crushing her temporary fantasies. It was too much for her to take, so she left to try to salvage what she could of her night.

_Ron slumped after her, unable to stand the sight of his younger self. He had never been very good with words, especially when trying to express his feelings, and tonight was probably one of the worst blunders her had ever made. But in his desperation to hold onto something that was slipping away, something he hadn't known until that moment that he wanted, he had tried to say anything he could think of to discredit his rival. He had hoped to turn her against him, maybe even make her feel a little guilty; but he had never meant to imply that she was someone who could never be loved, or that she was some sort of desperate slag that would sell out a friend for some attention. But jealousy and bitterness had been strong in him that year, and as always when he was hurt, he had lashed out at those closest to him. Watching now, he was surprised that Hermione hadn't written him off and chosen Krum instead. Because while Krum was a bit quiet and boring, and had no hope of keeping up with her when she went on a tear, he was at least polite, and his words didn't twist her like a knife._

Viktor had returned with the drinks, and she took hers, hoping her smile wasn't too forced. She sipped at the cold beverage, hoping it would help cool her anger.

"Herm-own-ninny? Did something happen? Vould you prefer to sit the next dance out?"

She set her glass on a nearby table, with perhaps more force than necessary. Oh, she was going to dance alright. There was no way she was going to let Ron ruin her night completely, leaving her sulking in a chair like him!

"Nothing happened. I was talking to a friend, and they said something a bit irritating, is all. But the music is lovely, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste, don't you think?"

"If someone has upset you, I vould be happy to have vords vith them..."

"No, that's alright. It was nothing important, anyway. Please, let's dance? I was having such a nice time before."

Viktor glared around, as if he could discover who had upset her just by looking at them. But he must have decided to let it go, because he allowed her to take his hand and lead him back to the dancefloor, where Ginny shot her a questioning look over Neville's shoulder. Hermione pretended not to see it. All she wanted to do was dance and forget; forget she was in love with a cruel, heartless pig of a boy, a boy who obviously didn't know her at all. She let the music pour over her as song after song played, and she danced as she had never danced before, twirling, spinning, and dipping. The evening was winding down when Viktor danced them over to one of the side doors, which opened onto a small garden with an arbour, the full moon the only light shining down.

She was nervous, because she suspected she knew what was coming. Though inexperienced, she was smart enough to know what it meant when a man led you out into the dark. While exciting, she wasn't sure if she was ready. After all, they had only known each other a short time, only had a few conversations in the library. But she was curious as well, and when would she get another chance? Never, if it was left up to Ron. The hurt of his words decided her, and she allowed Viktor to place his hands on her upper arms, drawing her closer.

"Herm-own-ninny, I...I vould like...ah. How to say this? In my country, I am being kept very busy, vith very little personal time. Once, there vas a girl I began to become close to, but nothing much came of it. But you...you are very different from other girls, so easy to talk to. And now, I vould like, I vould very much like to..."

"Yes," she said, just one word before she lost her nerve, as she tilted her head up and let her eyes fall closed.

She felt lips upon hers, just the slightest peck before he pulled away, and the sensation gave her a start. Then he kissed her again, but this time longer. It was a soft kiss, and fairly chaste; there was no tongue, but it wasn't the peck of before, either. Her lips moved under his, and then it was over, and they both took a step back, unsure what to say. Hermione, as always in a new situation, was busy analyzing what had happened. It had been far from unpleasant, though nothing like she had been led to believe, and it was a pale shadow to how she felt when she imagined what it would be like to...well. It was interesting, but she had thought kisses, especially first kisses, were supposed to taste sweet; this one was slightly sour from the wine he had been drinking earlier, and there was bitterness from the knowledge that this wasn't who she wanted to kiss. Her first kiss, and it was tainted because she knew a major part of it had only been done to prove something to herself and others, not because she felt any real love for the man she was with.

_A few feet away, Ron stood nonplussed. That was it? That was what had been ate at him for years? Sure, it was more than any of the kisses she had ever given Harry, but in light of their first kiss, it was so pale as to be almost nothing. And it wasn't even out of love or attraction, but born from hurt and curiosity, much like his first kiss had been. More like his first several hundred kisses had been, he thought guiltily. All because he hadn't been mature enough to let this go. And she had at least been kind enough not to do it right in front of him, and she certainly hadn't carried on for months just to rub his face in it, as he had her. Sure, there had been some part of her that had felt like she was getting a bit of her own back, but after what he had said, he couldn't really blame her._

Someone laughed loudly, and they jumped, before nervously laughing themselves.

"Ve...Should be getting back inside. It is too cold out here for you, and Karkaroff vill be looking for me."

"It is a bit cold, although I'm sure you're used to it. But I wouldn't want you to get in trouble, so we probably should go in."

She held his hand as they rejoined the crowed, and once again, Ginny was looking at her, this time knowingly, with a wink. But Hermione didn't want to think about it, and she made sure to stay on opposite sides of the room for the final two dances. It wasn't long before Viktor's headmaster was giving him pointed looks, and their goodbyes were rushed under his watchful gaze.

"I vill be seeing you in the library, I hope?" he asked, after kissing her hand.

"I'm sure you will. I spend most of my time in their, as anyone would tell you."

"Yes, vhen you are not vith your...friend. He is your friend, correct?"

Hermione blushed, thinking of Ron's accusations. "My very best friend. We've been friends since first year, you know. We're very close."

The answer seemed to displease him somehow. "I see. Vell. I am sure ve vill be getting to know each other better as vell. Goodnight, Herm-own-ninny."

She watched him go, before turning to the stairs that would lead to Gryffindor tower. Spotting a familiar head of red hair, she quickened her pace. She wasn't done with him. No, she had several things she wanted to say, and she was going to say them. She stalked up the tower, her fury mounting with every step. What gave him the right to comment on her love life? She had given him every chance to be the one to ask her, but nooo, she hadn't been good enough!

By the time she had gotten to the Common Room, she was in a right state, and wasted no time in walking up behind him, and giving him a good hard shove to his shoulder. When he turned, his eyes darkened, and his lips pulled down into a scowl.

"You're back awful early. What's wrong, did darling Vicky leave you in the lurch?" he snarled.

She backed off, taking up her usual fighting stance; legs set shoulder width apart, hands on hips and bent slightly forward.

"He only left because Karkaroff made him. For your information, we had a wonderful night. A far sight better than yours, or had it been your intention to spend it in a chair?"

"I had a date! And it was someone from Hogwarts too; I didn't have to get off with the enemy, unlike some people!"

"Viktor is not an enemy! And I recall you making a fool of yourself over a certain Veela, you hypocrite. But she wouldn't have you, would she? And the one you did manage to get to go with you certainly didn't stick around long. What was wrong, did she not like the way you were upholstered?"

She knew that was hitting too low, but she was too hurt to care. Why couldn't he see that this was all his fault? She had wanted nothing more than to go with him, and wouldn't have cared if he had been wearing a wedding dress; but he had turned his nose up and cut her at every turn, and now she was hurting and feeling guilty for trying to enjoy herself with Viktor. She didn't dare mention the kiss. Somehow she knew that whatever he said about that would be beyond horrid, and she didn't know if her heart could take it.

They continued to hurl insults, hands waving, eyes flashing. Her hair was coming loose and frizzing out, but she couldn't be bothered, not even by the stares they were receiving. All she was aware of was his voice; like the rest of his family, he had a thick, Devon accent, something she usually found rather comforting, and even exciting when it rumbled in anger. But now it was harsh and ugly, and she just wanted everything to stop. She hated the Ball, and she hated boys. She wanted to go to sleep and find that this had all been a dream. But it wasn't; it was very real, and the realest thing was the one fact that had stuck in her head. He didn't want her. She wasn't good enough, would never be good enough. She wasn't even good enough for anyone else to want, in his opinion, if he had to keep coming up with reasons why they would be interested in her. Even if he didn't love her, as her friend, shouldn't he have been happy for her? It didn't seem like he could.

_Ron was choking on the pain that was bubbling up within her. He wanted to yell, to tell her that that wasn't true, had never been true. He did want her, and that was why he couldn't be happy when someone else got her. He didn't want to be her friend, but any chance of something more was slipping away, and he didn't know how to hold onto it. His attempts were clumsy, and in his desperation to hold her he was crushing her instead. The hurt that she was feeling was running through him, enhanced by his own pain and regret, and it began to loop, speeding up and intensifying. The world flashed and pulsed, and his body was being pulled, the last thing he saw was her tearstained face, her eyes angry and full of emotion. A beeping noise filled his head, growing louder and louder, and then the darkness swallowed him whole._


	19. Chapter 19

Ron stared dolefully down at the laces of his trainers while he waited for Harry to get dressed. It was the day of the ball, and he was no closer to worming out Hermione's secret than he had been since he started. It was beyond frustrating; she would natter on endlessly about things like school and spew, but try to steer her onto a subject he was actually interested in, and she clammed right up. His curiosity had been set alight the moment he had learned she was going with someone, and he had devoted every spare second to wearing her down. But it was like trying to wear away rock with a trickle of water; with time it was possible, but tedious and not likely to happen in his lifetime.

He didn't even know why it mattered so much, but somehow it did. When he had asked her, he had been confident she would say yes. Grudgingly, and with grumbled mutterings about how their time could be better spent revising, but agreeing all the same. Then, not only had she refused, but she had claimed that she was going with someone else. How could she? It didn't make any sense. The only blokes she was around on a regular basis were him and Harry, so they should've seen if someone else had asked. Harry hadn't, of that he was sure. His brothers had dates, so they couldn't have done it to spite him. Seamus and Dean had dates, so that let them out, and Ginny was going with Neville. He frowned. Neville. For some reason, the thought that he had asked Hermione suddenly bothered him.

Alright, so that was every boy in Gryffindor that she had any real contact with. With a small gasp of horror, he was struck with the suspicion that she was seeing someone from another house. That was ridiculous. Hermione wouldn't go with someone she barely knew; he just wasn't looking hard enough. Part of the reason he was so eager to know was because he had to know who she had chosen over him. Fine, so maybe going with a friend wasn't the most exciting thing, but that wasn't something Hermione really cared about. Plus, she was always going on about how important friendship was, so whoever this other fellow was must be pretty impressive. And it wasn't totally a matter of ego, he assured himself. All this secrecy was too close to how things were last year, and he didn't relish the idea of being shut out again.

_If he hadn't gone about it in such a boneheaded manner, she really would have been fine with going as friends. It would have been a good starting point to plant the idea of something more, and at least they could have had fun. And she should have known that keeping things a secret would have bothered him. He had told her once that it made him feel left out and nervous, as if he were being slowly shut out from people's lives. Since then, she had done her best to be more open, and it had seemed to really help his confidence._

"What did those shoes ever do to you?"

Ron snapped his head up to look at Harry, who was staring at him with a bemused expression. "Huh?"

"I asked why you were glaring at your feet. Don't tell me they've grown again."

"'Course not." he lied. They actually had. "I was just wondering who Hermione's going to the ball with. You don't suppose it could be someone from Ravenclaw, do you?"

Harry rolled his eyes with a groan as Ron stood to follow him from the room, tugging his beanie onto his head. "Can't you let that drop? The twins are threatening to smuggle some Firewhiskey in to take a shot whenever you ask."

"I'm not that bad!"

"Not that bad? Ron, you ask so often, I think Hermione's afraid that she'll find you there waiting the next time she lifts the toilet lid."

"Come on, you can't tell me you're not curious."

"Yeah, but I can wait till tonight to find out. Why does it matter so much, anyway? You have your own date."

Ron was unable to find an answer. All he knew was that he had been plagued by a mounting sense of wrongness that wouldn't go away. As for his date, the thought didn't make him as happy as he thought it would. Sure, he was actually going to go with a pretty girl, but...he just couldn't seem to get excited about it. In fact, he had even forgotten a few times. He blamed Hermione; if she would just tell him, he would be able to focus on his unusual good luck.

_That was very Ron. His first reaction whenever he was uncomfortable or upset was to blame someone else. Sometimes it had merit, and sometimes it was ridiculous. It was always something of a process for him to work things around where he could see his own part in it. In this case, though, it was definitely a mix of his own slowness and her unwillingness to be the wallflower._

The air outside was biting cold, and even the sun did little to warm him. The twins were already there, and Ron had no doubt that they had already cached away a supply of snowballs. Which was fine; he had anticipated that, and had several piles cunningly hidden himself. Hermione was sitting on a bench out of the line of fire, and he waved at her, which caused his brothers to snicker.

"Go on, Ronnie. You won't be good for anything but a target until you get it out of your system."

Ron glared at Fred, and then at Harry, the traitor, who was laughing as well. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Hey, Hermione!"

Even from this distance he could see her eyes narrow and her lips press into a tight, thin line. Uh-oh. Looks like Harry had been right. "Are you going to be warm enough over there?"

The look of surprise on everyone's face was gratifying. Hermione pulled out her wand, waving it to show that she could warm up with magic. He smiled smugly at the twins, who looked disappointed.

"Not cool, little brother. If you're not going to amuse us, we might as well go inside."

Taking a lesson from Ginny, Ron smiled innocently. "Have the two of you been writing to Mum? I had a letter from her asking what the two of you have been up to."

His brothers shifted nervously, and Ron knew he had hit on something. They had been acting fishy for months, and he knew from experience that attention from their mum was the last thing they wanted.

"And just what did you write back, you dirty little grass?" George asked with a threatening look.

"I said the two of you have been really busy, and it looked like you were doing a lot of revising." Ron answered quickly, before things turned ugly. He just wanted a snowball fight, not an out and out war.

"Revising? Really?"

He shrugged. "Not bloody likely, but from a distance, it looked like you _could_ be."

The twins beamed, clapping him on the shoulders. "Atta boy, Ronniekins! For the next three hours, that earns you the spot of favorite brother. Of course, we're still going to slaughter you. Now, for teams-" Fred was interrupted by a snowball smacking him right in the face. He wiped it away, spitting snow. "We haven't started yet, you specky git!"

Harry toed the snow, his eyes large with false contrition. "Oh. Well, I don't have siblings, you see, so that isn't the kind of thing I'd know. So sorry."

George snorted. "Right. Ron, you take mister Puppy Eyes over there, and I'm with Fred. On the count of twenty, come out throwing!"

Ron grabbed their sleeves before they could run off. "Wait a minute, let's have some ground rules. No rocks, sticks, or anything other than snow. No sticking it down someone's trousers, and no turning it to ice or water. _And absolutely no yellow snow allowed!_"

"Damn, he remembered. Fine, you've got your rules. Now get moving!"

Harry looked at him curiously as they jogged to a small stand of trees. "Yellow snow?"

"Don't ask. Please, please don't ask."

They were out for hours, and Ron was able to forget things like Balls and dress robes, girls and secretive friends. His brothers were in a good mood, which had been rare of late, and he was enjoying spending time with them without getting his head bitten off. Even the cold had stopped bothering him after a while, and all in all, it was a good day. Until about five o'clock when Hermione said she was going in to get ready. Was she serious? Who took that long to get dressed? Even if she was taking a shower, that was still too much time.

"Three hours? Who the hell takes three hours to put on a set of dress robes?"

Fred gave a low whistle. "Sounds like she's pulling out all the stops. She must be serious about this guy, whoever it is."

Somehow, that was the last thing Ron wanted to hear. "Yeah right. Hermione's not interested in that kind of thing."

"You really have a lot to learn, brother of mine. Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. Let's keep going; I still owe you one for that last hit!"

Ron got back in the game, but his heart was no longer in it. He kept trying to picture Hermione giggling over boys like other girls, but the vision just wouldn't come. But what if Fred was right? What if she got herself a boyfriend? Where would that leave him? HIm and Harry. No, it couldn't be true. Though he tried to convince himself, the doubt kept gnawing at him. Part of him couldn't wait for tonight, when everything would be out in the open and settled. The other part of him never wanted it to come; something told him that he wasn't going to like whatever it was he was going to learn.

_That was an understatement. In a way, he had been more upset than during the whole Scabbers ordeal, though it wasn't dragged out as long. He had looked so wounded and betrayed that it had hurt to look at him; at least, until he had struck out at her. Seeing it from his point of view was proving to be an experience. Already, he was working himself up, even though he didn't know why. It was as if his subconscious could see what was coming, while he continued to fight against the realization. She dreaded what was coming up next; it had been bad enough to live through it, and she could tell that it was going to be at least as hard from this side of things. It hadn't even started yet, and she was already chewing her lips raw. Which was odd, because technically she wasn't really here, but even her usual voracious curiosity couldn't distract her from Ron._

_The boys stayed until the sun was setting, when they were forced to go in to get ready. Hermione followed as Ron slowly made his way back to the tower, in no hurry to change his clothes._

Ron stared at his trunk with trepidation. Every few minutes, he would reach out to open it, only to pull back. What was in there was worse than any Boggart, and he shuddered at the mere thought of what was awaiting him. Many people would have the hope that they had magically improved since the last time they saw them; Ron, however, had been raised around magic long enough to know that it rarely worked that way, and never for him. Everyone else was already mostly dressed, and he watched in envy as they moved about the room in their flashy robes. Even the plainest among them would be an improvement over his. Now he wished that he was better at Transfiguring things, as that was the only thing he could think of that would begin to help.

"Hurry up, Ron. Just bite the bullet and get them out already." Harry called from over by his bed.

"Bite the whatsit?"

"Nothing. I just meant that you should get it over with, or we'll be late."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going."

He shot a glare at Harry's back. It was easy for him to say. His robes looked great, not a frill in sight. Ron shook his head. Thoughts like that were what started their stupid fight in the first place, and he really didn't ever want to be on the outs with Harry like that ever again. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the lid of his trunk and dug to the bottom, where he had shoved the wretched things. The wrinkles they now sported did nothing to enhance them, even after he had shaken them out the best he could. His lip curled in distaste as he held them to his nose; their smell hadn't improved either. Reluctantly, he pulled them on. The best that could be said about them was that they were the right length, covering his painfully tight dress shoes.

The room went silent as, one by one, the other boys caught a look at him. The expression on his face must have been enough to warn them off from taking the piss, which he was greatly thankful for, until the door opened and the two people he wanted to see the least swaggered through. The twins stopped short, the grins melting off of their faces.

"Sweet fucking Circe, Ron! What the hell are you wearing?" George said in awe.

"Wow, Ginny said they were bad, but she didn't say that it looks like Mum's good tablecloth and all the doilies in the house got together for an orgy!"

Ron let out a noise between a groan and a whimper. That was it; he wasn't going downstairs. He was going to make a noose out of the excess lace and hang himself.

Fred circled him, examining him from all angles like one would a newly discovered species, albeit a repulsive one. "At least get rid of the stench. Unless that's your cologne. Then you deserve it for spraying it on willingly."

"No, that was a bonus that came with the robes. I don't think Mum managed to wash them."

His brother flicked his wand, performing some sort of Freshening Charm. "There. Now you're only offensive to one of the senses. Want us to see if we can temporarily blind your bird for the night?"

Oh, that was tempting. While they were at it, they could just blind the entire castle, and he wouldn't have anything to worry about. Until Mum heard about it and came up to murder everyone. And with his luck, she'd end up burying him in the things.

"Thanks, but no. Maybe if I..."

Sticking his tongue out in concentration, he used a Severing Charm to remove as much of the lace as he could. If he had to go as some form of household linen, then it was at least going to be a bachelor tablecloth.

_Hermione winced sympathetically. Those robes were just as atrocious as she remembered, and they would have been a severe blow to someone who possessed self-confidence in spades, which Ron certainly didn't. Ron was at his most touchy when his confidence was low and he felt like he was coming in last place; he might have reacted badly if she had gone with any boy, but picking an international Quidditch star absolutely guaranteed that it would be more than he could handle._

They moved to the main stairs, where he waited with Harry. The twins had already gone ahead with their dates, and Ron was trying to blend into the conveniently placed tacky painting behind him. He shifted his weight from the right foot to the left, and then back again, his fingers plucking at a stray thread on his cuff that he had missed. His eyes were trained on the top of the stairs, where he was sure Hermione would be appearing soon. He was so close to finding out who she was with that he couldn't focus on anything else, and when Harry led Padma over, he barely acknowledged her. But Hermione never appeared, and he eventually had to move along to the Great Hall. The crowd began to whisper and mutter as the main doors opened and the students from Durmstrang came through. Ron shoved between two fifth years, standing on his toes to catch a glimpse of Krum. His robes were probably going to be among the fanciest there, and Ron was sure that he was bringing the prettiest girl at Hogwarts; maybe even Fleur. And there he was at the head of the group, in disappointingly sober robes. Ron turned his attention to the girl on Krum's arm, but instead of the pale blond he was expecting, he saw that it was...

No.

No, it was impossible, and he refused to believe it.

But as they came closer, there was no mistaking that it was Hermione. She looked...she looked amazing. More than amazing. She had done something with her hair, and he didn't think he had ever seen her in makeup. There was a glow about her that seemed to radiate from head to foot, dimming those around her.

And it all made Ron sick.

It wasn't like being punched in the stomach; with six siblings, he knew that feeling well enough. And it wasn't the sharp pain followed by the deep ache of a broken bone, like he had had last year. It was some sort of horrible mixture of the two, only much, much worse, with an overlying tone of the fight he had earlier in the year with Harry.

_Hermione sucked in a mouthful of air, trying to get her breath. This was some of the strongest, most painful emotion she had ever felt from Ron. Though slightly different from his perspective, she was far from unfamiliar with this sensation. It was almost exactly how she had felt in sixth year when she first saw Lavender kissing Ron, and recalling how poorly she had reacted then, she now completely understood why Ron had behaved as he did. They were both wrong in their choice of actions, though at least Ron hadn't attacked her with magic, a thought that shamed her still. All he used were words, which were more than painful enough._

Speaking of Harry, he didn't even seem to notice anything amiss. Fat lot of good those glasses did. He just kept moving forward, and Ron followed in his wake, staring straight ahead so the stinging in his eyes wouldn't turn to tears. Harry went up to sit at the head table, and Ron veered off to one of the lower ones, sitting in the corner. He was momentarily shocked and hopeful when there was a rustle of feminine dress robes by his side, until he saw that it was Padma. Grunting at her comment, he stared quietly down at the table, for once having absolutely no interest in whatever was on the menu. He managed to string together a few items along with everyone else, but when his plate arrived, he only poked at it. Conversation swirled around him, the subject only irritating him further. Who the hell cared what kind of gunk Hermione had poured in her hair?

He stared fixedly up at the head table, leaning back so he had a clear shot of Hermione. The sight made his heart ache all over again, because she was laughing. He jabbed his fork viciously into his piece of meat. How dare that jumped-up broom humper make her laugh? That laugh was supposed to be for him! Hermione didn't laugh at every little thing, and it was always a source of pride that he was the one who could make her laugh until tears leaked out of her eyes when he really tried. And now he was having to watch her up there, acting like she was only supposed to with him, and to a lesser extent, Harry.

"Ron? Ron, that cow was already dead. There's really no need in killing it all over again."

"Huh? Oh. Shit."

He had looked down to see what Ginny was talking about, and found that he had tenderized his steak into a sort of meat paste. Dropping his fork, he pushed his food away untouched. Ginny's eyes were boring into his skull, but he avoided looking at her. He was suffering enough without his nosey little sister wanting to know why he was skipping what should've been a bang up dinner. There was movement from up front, and the tables were cleared away to make room for dancing. Ron skulked at the edges to watch, Padma sighing loudly at his side as he found a seat. He had planned to watch Harry, so he could give him a hard time later, but that was now the furthest thing from his mind. It wasn't long before Harry dropped into the chair beside him, not looking too happy himself. Well at least they could be miserable together.

Padma asked if he wanted to dance, but he brushed her off. How could he dance without Hermione? It took him a moment to realize she had meant for him to dance with her, but the idea had no appeal. He was too busy watching Hermione twirl around the room with the Bulgarian Baboon. His hands looked obscenely large on her waist, and Ron's teeth grit impossibly hard as he tried to picture how it would feel if he were touching her instead. But it was probably just as well; the dancing they were doing was nothing like what he was used to at weddings and other Weasley family get togethers, and he would end up looking like a clumsy sod beside her. He hadn't even known she could dance. Apparently there were a lot of things he hadn't known, including the fact that he wanted to know, about so many things he had never thought to ask.

The lights shone brightly on the highlights in her hair as she spun across the room, dancing further and further away from him. He was such a fool. It was just like him to realize how much he wanted something as it slipped right through his grasp. How had it taken this long to see it? Hermione was an amazing witch; brilliant and driven, courageous and caring. As for her looks...well, he had eyed her up a few times over the last year, as much as he had tried to ignore it. There was no ignoring it now; she was fit as fuck, and he narrowed his eyes at some of the looks she was getting. He growled under his breath, and turned his attention back to the dancers. Hermione was no longer there. He scanned the room, only to have her come up from his right, smiling and breathless.

She seemed so damn happy, as if she wasn't ripping him apart from the inside out. Instead of playing it cool, the poison burbled up within him, spilling out in his words. He searched desperately for any reason that he could think of to make Krum look bad. Believing that he and Hermione were serious about one another was more than he could bear, and he spun up a story to account for their sudden attraction. Like most things in his life, it didn't go as planned; instead of seeing her night with Vicky as a mistake, she just got angrier and angrier, and it almost looked like she was hurt. Which was ridiculous, because he was the one being hurt. Everything was going great for her. It all ended with her giving a strangled noise suspiciously like a sob before stalking off, leaving him with Harry, who was regarding the ceiling with far more interest than it deserved.

One of the best things about Harry, in Ron's opinion, was that he never pressed you to talk about things. Which was good, because he didn't know where to start, even if he was able to admit what was wrong. Just when he thought the night couldn't get any worse, Percy slipped up on them, like salt attracted to a citric acid covered wound. The lace from his robes would have come in handy right about now; he could either use it to garrott Percy, or stuff his mouth with it. Never the easiest to deal with among his siblings, Percy had reached new levels of pompousness this last year that Ron had previously thought impossible to attain. It was with great relief that he and Harry managed to sneak away into the gardens, away from his brother, the noise, and, most importantly, the sight of Hermione dancing with someone else.

It was cold out, but Ron had always found that anger and embarrassment did a better job of keeping you warm than any Charm, and he had enough of both to spare. He had gone outside for a distraction, and he had certainly found that. Snape and Karkaroff getting suspiciously cozy would have been interesting enough, but what had blown his mind was stumbling onto Hagrid and his...lady friend. Seriously, even Hagrid had found someone? What was so wrong with him, then? He bathed regularly. He didn't have hair like a bear pelt. He didn't keep pets that were likely to cost you and your nearest and dearest your lives. (Alright, _one,_ but the rat hardly counted.) And then, to top it off, finding out Hagrid was half giant!

And he could tell by the look on Harry's face that he just didn't get it, and that Hermione probably wouldn't either. It was shaping up to be the whole Lupin argument of last year. Since he spent most of his time with them in the Magical world, Ron often forgot that they had been raised the Muggle way, and there were things they didn't understand, and usually took wrong. Hermione had lectured him about the way he had treated Lupin in the Shrieking Shack, and it had taken some explaining to get her to see his point. Werewolves were a difficult subject to deal with at the best of times. They didn't really have a set nature; it really depended on the personality of the individual. You could either have a kindly, downtrodden type like Lupin, or a homicidal monster like Greyback. And that was what was the most frightening thing about them. You never knew what you were going to get, until sometimes it was too late. Even the decent ones could be dangerous when they lost themselves. They would regret it all the next day, but that didn't do you much good when you were nothing but a pile of bones.

When he had freaked out that night, he was just going with the facts as he knew them. One, there was a murderous maniac bent on his best friend's death, and two, a man they thought they could trust appeared to now be on the side of the enemy. And he was a werewolf. Did he mention he was siding with someone who wanted to kill them? _And it was the full moon_. So yes, he had been justifiably worried. As he pointed out to Harry and Hermione, neither one of them had rushed to Lupin to embrace him like a long lost uncle, and why was that, hmm? Because they were just as afraid as he was! Once things had gotten sorted out, he was just fine with their Professor, and had been disappointed that he wouldn't be staying.

Giants, however, were another matter entirely. They were just plain cruel. Wizards had tried for centuries to see if they couldn't discover a peaceful line of giants, but had always met with failure, and usually a very unpleasant death as well. And it wasn't only animosity between races. Giants couldn't even stand to be around one another, and murder was an almost daily occurrence, which was one of the reasons they were dying out. Even Hagrid had admitted his mum had been no prize.

It wasn't even the fact that he was part giant that was troubling Ron. You only had to meet Hagrid to know he was one of the biggest softies to walk the earth. Anyone who went to tears over Hippogriffs and sang lullabies to dragons couldn't be what you would consider a typical giant. But people like Malfoy would use the information to cause problems for Hagrid; he would surely go running off to daddy as soon as he heard, and there would be a big stir at the Ministry. Things would've been fine if Hagrid had kept his mouth shut, but there he was, babbling along as happy as a three year old with a toy broom. Madame Olympe had much more sense; deny everything, no matter how obvious a lie it was. She would stay safe, but the truth about Hagrid would be all over the castle within a week if he kept going on like this. He just hoped Dumbledore would be able to keep things under control, because he didn't think Hagrid could take another stay in Azkaban.

_When he put it like that, it made perfect sense. When she was young, she had naively believed that if you treated others well, you would be treated well in return, and that everyone would appreciate your efforts on their behalf. Sadly, that wasn't always the case. Centaurs were a good example; you could try and try all you liked, but they still looked down on you with disdain and suspicion, and could be quite dangerous with little to no provocation. But at this time, she was more upset with Ron's attitude towards house elves, which she considered to be blatantly racist, an ugly trait in an otherwise likable boy. Oh, he hated to see them treated badly, and he bore them no ill will. He didn't even really think they weren't as good as humans. And, of course, there was the matter of it being something that was traditional in his world and rarely, if ever, questioned. He had taken her disgust as something personal, when it wasn't._

_And Ron...Ron didn't like thinking about the larger issues unless he had to. Once he was behind a cause he would fight for it with his last breath; it just took a while to get there. And at this time in his life, he simply wasn't ready for that. If he changed his beliefs, he was the type who would do something about it, and he wasn't comfortable or mature enough to take up that kind of responsibility. So it wasn't really a case of racism, per se, but more a lack of maturity and a case of moral laziness, which could happen to the best of people, and often did. Even Harry had been less than supportive of S.P.E.W., and that was even after knowing how terribly Dobby had been treated._

All too soon, they had to go back inside, and the thoughts that had distracted him for the past hour or so fled in the face of his remembered hurt. He could feel the negativity building up again, and it wasn't long before he took advantage of Harry's inattention to leave. It was slow going wading through the throng of students who were reluctant for the night to end, but he finally made it to the Common Room, which was almost as loud as it was downstairs. Everyone was talking about what a great time they had, but he wasn't listening. The room finally thinned out a little, and he stood in the middle, unable to decide whether to wait in front of the fire for Harry, or to go on up. His decision was made for him, when someone gave him a hard shove to the back.

It was Hermione, and by the look of her, she was spoiling for a fight. That suited him just fine; he was all keyed up, and a flaming row sounded like just the thing. They snapped back and forth, and he was hardly aware of what was being said. All that was important was that her attention was finally on him, and he would take what he could get, even if it was negative. Negative it certainly was, but by the tears dancing at the corner of her eyes, he wasn't doing too shabbily in that department either. The guilt for that would come later, but right now, he wanted her to hurt the same way he did. If he had been smart, he would've played up his night with Padma to make her jealous, but who was he kidding? No way she would want to trade places with the other girl.

_Yet that was exactly what she had wanted. She had wanted to be the one he asked, the one he ate with and danced with. Even if they hadn't danced, they could have sat to one side with bottles of Butterbeer, cracking wise about Malfoy and Pansy, maybe even had a good laugh about his robes. They could have teased Harry about his nervousness, and he possibly would have seen that she was interesting as a girl. It was so frustrating to watch, and she had tears in her eyes from the shared emotions. In the end, they had each only ever wanted the same thing; to be wanted. They just wouldn't get to the point of admitting it for another three years._

Her hair had tumbled down around her face in all it's frizzy glory, and she stood there the picture of a Gryffindor lion. She would be stunning if it wasn't for the fact that she looked like she wanted to rip him to shreds or cry. Or worse, both. It wasn't until she had turned to run up to her room that he noticed that they had had a rather large audience, and that Harry had showed up to catch the end of it. Her final comment about asking her next time had struck him like a slap, and he was only able to splutter a feeble response to Harry, hoping his friend wouldn't catch on. There was a funny look in his eye, but Ron attributed that to the light glinting off of his glasses.

Slithering up after Harry to escape the snickers from the rest of the room, Ron quietly got ready to change for the night. The first things to go were the dress robes; he set them aside, having plans for them later when he had some privacy. That left him in his trousers and one of Bill's old shirts, and it wasn't until then that he realized he had misplaced his tie. It was most likely draped over the backs of one of the seats downstairs; he was forever taking his ties off without realizing it. Since it was the only decent thing about his whole outfit, he supposed he had better go down to get it.

Thankfully, the room had cleared out, with only four people remaining. It was the twins, saying goodnight as Katie and Angelina went upstairs. Ron tiptoed to the group of chairs where he had spotted his tie, hoping they would miss him when they turned to go to the boys' dorm. But really, when had he ever been that lucky? As one, they moved across the room towards him, and Ron found himself wondering just how it was that they managed to pull off second hand robes while not looking stupid. He supposed the fact that theirs were basic black had a lot to do with it, in addition to their charisma.

"Hey, Ron! Just wanted to thank you for providing a perfect cap to our night; we had dinner, dancing, and thanks to you, a show!"

Ron rolled his eyes at George. Great. just what he needed. "Do you think the two of you could manage to find humor in something other than my pain? At least for tonight? In the morning you can be your usual prickish selves."

The twins raised their eyebrows at each other. "My my, I do believe our Ronniekins has got himself worked up. So tell us, what has your knickers in a knot? It wouldn't have anything to do with Gorgeous Granger, would it?"

"...Shut up."

"Yup, that witty comeback says it all. Why didn't you just ask her yourself in the first place?"

"I did!" Ron said, waving his tie around like a thin flag of distress. "I asked just like you did Angelina; you heard me!"

Fred raised his hands. "Whoa, I asked her pretty casual like, sure, but not right after I had acted like I just discovered she was a girl, and not like it was a choice between a stale ham and cheese or a corned beef sandwich!"

"I never did any of that, either!"

"Ron, when that gob of yours flaps around in the breeze, do you actually listen to what comes out of it? You know, being a Weasley male is usually dangerous, given our tendency to pop out babies if we so much as hold a girl's hand. But not you; you're your very own form of birth-control. I can only imagine what you said to Hermione earlier to set her off like you did."

"I just said that she shouldn't be taken in by Krum, that he was probably using her to find out stuff about Harry and the next Challenge."

His brothers facepalmed at the exact same moment, releasing identical groans. "Well George, It's obvious Mum isn't going to be getting any grandchildren out of young Ron. We'll each have to have an extra one to pick up his slack."

"What? What did I say wrong?"

"If you can't figure it out by yourself, then there's no help for you. "Come on, Fred. We were going to work on you-know-what before we went to bed, remember?"

Ron knew better than to even ask what they were plotting, and at this point, he didn't even care. It pissed him off that they knew where he had gone wrong and couldn't be arsed to tell him. he stomped back upstairs, his tie clenched in his fist. The rest of his roommates had already turned in for the night, so he didn't even get the satisfaction of slamming the door. Movement from his bedside table caught his eye, and he angrily snatched up the figure of Krum that was marching in small circles, letting his tie slip to the floor. He sat on his bed, glaring at it with a hatred unlike any he had ever felt before.

He had always thought he could count on Quidditch. Even when the rest of his life was going rotten, it was the one thing that stayed the same, that he could find a little joy in. But now it had betrayed him in the most hurtful ways possible, and by one of his top idols. He wondered how he had never noticed the devious, sly nature of Krum before. The man was an obvious womanizer, and he wouldn't be surprised if he had sympathies in the direction of the Death Eaters. Why wasn't it as obvious to Hermione? Was she really blinded by the fame? Or was it the looks? Or the talent...or the money...

Whatever it was, it was clearly too late for him. Who would settle for lowly Ron Weasley after having all that? He thought back to how she had looked when he had first seen her tonight, more beautiful than he had ever thought possible. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it would have been like if she had gone with her instead, how they would have looked dancing together, what he would have said to her. But no matter how he pictured it, he came off small and shabby, unfit to be with her. No, Hermione deserved someone on her level, and she had obviously realized it too.

A small popping sound made him look down, and he saw that he had twisted the arm right off of the figure of Krum. Disgusted, he threw it away, regretting that he had ever wasted his money on the toy. He wondered, briefly, if Krum and Hermione would be announcing that they were an item tomorrow; he didn't think he would be able to stomach it. Before he faced them, he was going to have to come to terms with the fact that he had lost. He had lost any chance he had ever had with Hermione, before he had even started. He didn't know which hurt most; the fact that she would never know how he felt, or the fact that she wouldn't care even if she did. Everything that he suddenly knew he wanted, everything he knew he would never have flashed through his mind; holding hands, trips into Hogsmeade with just the two of them, those private jokes that couples had, snogging...it was too much. If there was anything he had to offer her, anything that would make her give him a second glance...but there was nothing. Nothing at all, just like him.

Slowly, silently, without bothering to change into his pajamas, Ron turned into his pillow and cried, harder than he had since he was a child.

_Hermione sobbed along with him, he body shaking with the force. Why? Why had he always felt like he was worthless, or that she would think of him in such a manner? Had she really been so horrible that he couldn't see through to her true feelings? She hated this, all the pain he was feeling, being the cause of it; she was so full of her own emotions and his as well that she felt like she would explode. It was sadly funny; Ron had once said that that was what would happen if a person felt too much, and he was right. She hadn't realized he had been speaking from experience, but that was exactly what had happened. It had all been too much for him to take, and it had spilled over into his words and actions._

_She tried to stop crying, but she couldn't; she wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to tell him that what he was feeling was about as far away from the truth that he could get. In her desperation to help, she had forgotten that this had happened in the past, and everything was alright now. She struggled and fought, her only thought to make things right. Her breath became shallow, and there was a ringing in her ears. Colors blurred together faster and faster until there was nothing but blackness, and the sensation of falling, pulling her away from Ron._


	20. Chapter 20

Ron and Hermione both jerked into consciousness at the same time, their bodies trembling and twitching. Breath came in jagged bursts, rasping on each inhale as sweat trickled down their temples. Slowly, they turned their heads to face each other, eyes foggy with confusion; the abrupt change from the past to the present was difficult to process. Tears were in their eyes, but any words they may have wished to speak were lodged in dry throats. Suddenly, the high-pitched beeping sound ceased.

"There we are. Are the two of you experiencing any symptoms I need to know about? You seemed to be having difficulties, which triggered the alarm."

The two of them squinted up at the speaker, who was standing at the foot of the bed. It was Dr. Fletcher, her form blurred from the bright light behind her. Hermione sat up, Rubbing her head. Her mouth felt like Crookshanks had climbed in and shed all his fur all over her tongue.

"I think it was Ron. He seemed very upset, and it became hard to stay within the memory. Everything went black, and the next thing I knew, I was here."

Ron raised an eyebrow, sure he had misheard. "No, that was you. You freaked out, and we were pulled back here."

Hermione glared at him, angrily brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "No, it was most definitely you! I don't know what part you were at, but for me it was the Yule Ball. You kept getting more and more worked up, thinking all of these ridiculous things-"

"Ridiculous? Me? You were the one that had it all wrong! I never meant half of the things you thought I did, but once you make up your mind, you run with it, and you get all worked up!" Ron had struggled up onto one arm, and they were nose to nose. Both of them ignored the increasingly loud sounds of a throat being cleared.

"Oh, that's rich! Merlin Ron, I can't believe some of the things you thought about yourself. And I can't get over the fact that you believed I thought like that too! Never once did I think you were worthless!"

"Well, you sure had a funny way of showing it at the time! I swear that-"

They both winced and hissed as their ears were assaulted by a loud screech. Looking up, they watched as Dr. Fletcher calmly dropped the whistle that hung from a cord around her neck back underneath her cardigan. "Now that I have your attention, I think I can see the problem. I thought you were here to resolve your issues, not to play the blame game like a pair of small children."

Sheepishly, they cast their eyes at the duvet, like children being chastised for sneaking sweets. It was embarrassing to be called out like that, especially when she was right.

"Of course, I can understand where you're coming from, Ron. Is she always this accusing and shrewish?"

Her words had Ron's head snapping up, his face twisting in anger at the slight against Hermione. "Now, you just listen here! I don't care if you are a healer or a doctor or whatever you call yourself; you're out of order talking about Hermione like that! Sure, she can get a bit sharp, but I don't always take things seriously enough unless they're shoved in my face, and sometimes I miss them altogether. I can be a right arse, but Hermione only pushes me because she knows I can be better than that."

As he wound down, he felt her take his hand and give it a small squeeze, and he glanced down to see the corners of her lips turned up.

Dr. Fletcher nodded. "I see. You're a very patient person, Hermione, to deal with his selfishness and disregard for your feelings."

It was Hermione's turn to flare up, and Ron could practically feel the power crackling off of her body. "Excuse me? Ron is not selfish, and he happens to care very much about my feelings! He has always been there for his friends and given a hundred percent, and he's tried to put me first. I can be overbearing, and I don't always make my feelings clear, and I can send him the wrong signals. Sometimes I push too far, and Ron has to stand up for himself and call me on it! So don't act like you know what goes on between us, because you don't!"

The icy expression cleared from Dr. Fletcher's face, and the smile she gave them was much warmer. "Do you see that? How you both reacted to what I said, when each of you thought I was attacking the other? You immediately forgot your fight, and came to the other person's defense. Not only that, but you showed an understanding for the person's motives and actions. This is what you need to work on; you both provide a united front to outside forces, but you seem to lose the ability to focus on the important things when it's just the two of you. And isn't that why you're here?"

Hermione and Ron both nodded slowly; they realized they had just been played, but they could see what she was saying.

"You know, many couples come here with the idea that they're going to go over all their past issues and assign the blame, and see who comes out looking better. Blame is not the issue here; discord is very rarely cut and dry. One person may start something, but the other person's reaction may be just as bad. Sometimes, there isn't even a real problem, only the perception there is based on some type of misunderstanding. The point of this therapy is to learn more about the inner workings of the other person so you can better understand where they are coming from, and also to look inside yourself to see where your own words and actions can be adjusted so that discord and misunderstandings happen less often. Surely, you've seen evidence of this already?"

They had. Not only seeing, but experiencing the thoughts and feelings that the other had gone through was proving to be an eye opening experience. For every positive aspect that had been strengthened, there was a corresponding fact that had been taken for granted as true, that either turned out to be downright false, or otherwise so skewed that it almost turned into something else altogether.

"Ron, I've seen so much that...that it's still hard to process. The things you were thinking a lot of the time, especially the night of the Yule Ball...I never-" Hermione began.

Ron interrupted, his voice hoarse. "I know. I saw. It's just that I was so messed up, you know? I saw things that weren't there, and I missed some important things that I should've seen. But you were wrong about some things too. I'm not blaming you or anything like that! I just mean that it went both ways."

"So, if the two of you are feeling better, would you like to begin again? I have to warn you, it would be better if you stayed under this time, and I'll set up some Calming Charms to make that easier. But I prefer to immerse you as few times as possible in one session, since the effects can be quite mentally and emotionally exhausting. Although I suppose we could schedule another session, though I would recommend against it."

Hermione and Ron shared an uneasy look. "Doctor, just how many times would you say we were going to have to do this? We're only at our fourth year of school so far."

"Sessions do vary from couple to couple. Given the way time passes far more quickly inside the memories than in the outside world, you would expect this portion to be done without much hassle. But a major problem that occurs is reluctance on the part of one or both parties; I've had couples fight the memories so hard, that several sessions are necessary. Fortunately, in addition to the two of you being young and healthy, with fairly clear memories, neither of you is trying to block the other out. Taking all factors into consideration, I see no reason why you can't finish the memory portion of this therapy in one session."

"But we could choose to stop now, and come back later?"

Dr. Fletcher removed her glasses, polishing one lens on the hem of her shirt. "Yes, but as I said, I would advise against it. Tell me. The memories you've experienced just now, are they the strongest negative point in your relationship? And, if not, knowing that worse is to come, would you be able to bring yourselves to come back again?"

"Hermione, let's go ahead and do it all now. I know it's going to be bad, but...I'd be a mess if we left, having it hanging over my head, knowing we have to come back. Actually, I'm not sure I could. I don't give a damn about who was wrong or right, and I know we're both going to see things we'd rather not, relive things we'd rather forget. But it all turned out alright in the end, right? She said before we started that we have something special, and to hold onto it when things got hard. If you think you can manage, I'd like to give it a try."

His words, and the determination behind them, were all the proof Hermione needed to know they were doing the right thing. As well as she knew Ron, she was learning so much more, and, while some of that was painful, there was much of it that was wonderful as well. All of the reasons and more that she had fallen in love with him for were being rediscovered, and she was learning more about herself as well. Her strengths and weaknesses, as seen through his eyes, were going to help her be a better person and a better partner. And he was right; as much as she was dreading some of the upcoming times, things had turned out fine in the end, and she would get to see more of the good times as well.

Giving him a large smile, she pulled him back down onto the pillows, giving him a sound kiss on the lips before settling into place. "I'm ready; Let's do this."

"Good choice. Now, just relax. Remember; you're doing this together. Memories are the past, and they can't change what you've made for yourselves now."

She tapped her wand against the blue patches at their temples, and their eyelids slipped shut as they were dropped back into the past, like starting up a film that had been paused.

Dr. Fletcher smiled. Before they had lost consciousness, their hands had become clasped together once again. "Those two are going to be fine. Not just fine; I might go so far as to say wonderful."

She checked the Charms on the room once more, and walked to the door, her smile turning wicked. "And with as explosive as they are, the make up sex has to be simply brilliant!"


End file.
